


This Is How We Learn

by sadsongssaysomuch



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Boarding School, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Artist Steve Rogers, Character Death, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Musician Bucky Barnes, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Recreational Drug Use, Underage Drinking, Underage Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-03
Updated: 2015-03-30
Packaged: 2018-03-05 01:24:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 13
Words: 53,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3099845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sadsongssaysomuch/pseuds/sadsongssaysomuch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The year is 1986 and Steve Rogers is a scholarship student at Lakewood Academy, a school for students gifted in music, art and dance. When he meets fellow student Bucky Barnes, Steve learns that sometimes the most important lessons we learn in life aren't things we're taught in school at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Let me guess, you’re an art student?

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, this fic will contain a major character death and other tags will be added as new chapters go up. Please read at your own risk.

The door to the dorm room flew open with such force it threatened to fly off the hinges. “I am _done_! Totally done.”

Steve looked up from his Psychology homework to see his roommate, Sam, motioning disgustedly. “How was the trig test, Sam?” he asked, holding back a sigh.

Sam slammed the door shut as loudly as he had opened it. “Trigonometry. I am _over_ it,” Sam said, throwing his backpack onto his bed. “Mr. Carver is harsh. It was brutal. I kid you not, I’ll be lucky if I didn’t fail.” Sam dropped onto the bed dramatically, kicking his shoes off as he did.

Steve didn’t have trigonometry this year, but he’d always been good at math, so he wasn’t too worried about taking it. “Sorry, Sam. Maybe you should have gone to the student center and asked for a tutor? Or I could help you if you need it?”

“Are you kidding me? This was the first test of the year! I don’t need a tutor, man. I need to not have to worry about trig.” Sam sighed. “I’m here to dance, not do math.”

Steve didn’t say anything. Sam did have a point, Lakewood Academy was a boarding school for students gifted in music, art and dance and while they did have to take regular academic classes, it was their talent in other areas that brought them there. But he also knew it would be pointless to argue with Sam when he was like this. They’d only been roommates for the past six weeks, but he’d learned fast.

“You mind if I call Natasha and ask her to come over?” Sam said sitting up and reaching for the phone.

“Sam! It’s Wednesday afternoon. I’ve got homework too!”

“Steve, I know man. We gotta practice our routine, go over some moves,” Sam protested.

“Yeah, moves, sure,” Steve muttered under his breath. It wouldn’t matter what Sam invited Natasha over for, they’d end up making out before too long.

Sam didn’t answer; he was already on the phone, calling Natasha.

Steve was just finishing his reading for Psychology when Natasha burst into the room. “Hey, Steve,” she called cheerfully as she flopped onto Sam’s bed next to Sam.

“What’s up, Nat?” he asked.

“Nothing much. How are my two favorite freeloaders?” she asked, referring to the fact that both Steve and Sam were attending Lakeview Academy on a full-ride scholarship.

“Hey!” Sam said, elbowing Natasha in the ribs. “Not all of us are lucky enough to be a princess like you.”

“Not a princess, Sam,” she reminded him. “Just the daughter of a diplomat.”

“Right, close enough, _princess_ ,” Sam said, standing up quickly and executing a perfect bow in front of Natasha.

Steve closed his book with a heavy hand. “That’s it, I’m leaving now before you guys make me hurl. I don’t need to sit around and listen to you two flirt.”

“I am _not_ flirting, Rogers!” Natasha said, scowling at Steve.

“No, she’s right, the flirting is all me,” Sam said. “I can’t help it if I’ve got skills.”

“Whatever,” Steve said. He grabbed his sketchbook and tucked a pencil behind his ear. “It’s fine, I need to find something inspiring to sketch for an assignment.”

“Sure, have fun, Steve,” Sam said. He was sitting next to Natasha again, his dark hand toying with a strand of her red hair.

Steve rolled his eyes and left the dorm room, wandering aimlessly down the hall. He checked his watch, noting the time. He’d give Sam and Nat at least an hour alone before knocking very loudly to announce his return.

With his sketchbook under his arm, he trotted down the stairs, leaving the student dorms behind while he thought about what inspired him that he could sketch. Maybe his mom, she was his biggest inspiration above all. She never gave up on him, not even when he so sick and constantly in and out of the hospital when he was younger. She worked two jobs to make sure he had what he needed; medicine wasn’t cheap. But she somehow always managed to be there when he needed her.

With his mind on his mom, Steve realized too late that he had wandered into the music hall. Not that it mattered, it wasn’t off limits, he just never really went into that wing of the school, since he was an art student and had no reason to be in the music hall.

Steve was about to turn around when he heard the sound of a piano being played. He wondered if a class was still in session or if there was some sort of after school activity. He followed the sound to the open door of a classroom.

Peering through the door, Steve saw not a class, but a lone person sitting at a piano playing beautifully. He didn’t recognize the song, but it was haunting. The soft melody wasn’t like anything he’d ever heard before. And it wasn’t a teacher playing the piano. No, it was another student. The piano was positioned so that the player had his back to the door, but Steve saw a head of dark hair bent over the keyboard, lost in playing the song. He didn’t see any sheet music resting on the piano and he wondered if the pianist was playing from memory or composing on the spot.

It hit him then. This was inspiring. He didn’t know the tune or the player, but the music spoke to him, it tugged at something inside of him and if nothing else it inspired him to create. Leaning against the doorframe Steve slid his pencil from behind his ear and quickly flipped open his sketchbook.

With a few quick strokes of his pencil, he’d captured a rough outline of the player, back curved over the keyboard. Steve hoped he was capturing the intensity the boy at the piano was playing with. The song wasn’t fast or loud, but you could tell he was focusing his entire body on the notes his fingers were playing.

Not wanting to be caught watching uninvited, Steve hastily finished the main outlines for the sketch. He could finish it later from memory. It was hard to tear himself away from the beautiful playing though and he lingered in the doorway a moment longer, closing his sketchbook. He tried to place his pencil behind his ear again, but it slipped from his fingers and clattered to the floor.

The piano player abruptly stopped, turning his head to see the source of the noise. A pair of blue-gray eyes honed in on Steve and narrowed into a glare. “What the fuck are you doing?” the boy at the piano spit out at Steve. He didn’t move, didn’t attempt to get up off the piano bench, but he was clearly angry at being interrupted. “Get the hell out of here.” He didn’t raise his voice and his tone was flat and cold.

“Sorry,” Steve stammered, feeling his face heating up. He bent down, grabbed his pencil and backed hastily into the hallway. His heart was pounding and his chest felt tight as he ran down the hallway. He just made it through the double doors at the end of the music hall before he had to fumble in his pocket for his inhaler. Taking the cap off and shaking it as hard as he could, Steve brought the inhaler to his mouth. He exhaled, emptying his lungs and placed the spacer between his teeth and closing his lips tightly around it. He pressed down on the inhaler, breathing deeply as the medicine was dispensed. Holding his breath, he leaned back against the nearest wall, counting to ten before slowly exhaling through his mouth.

“Shit,” he muttered. He was going back to his dorm room and he didn’t care if Sam and Natasha were done practicing their dance routine or whatever they were doing. He didn’t know the kid who had been playing the piano but he’d made a giant ass of himself and now all he wanted to do was crawl into bed and hide.

* * * *

A week later, Steve had his nose buried in a textbook, trying to read over the chapter Ms. Kyle, the Psychology teacher, had assigned. It was a warm day, despite it being October, so he figured it was safe enough to sit outside and get his reading done. He knew his mom would freak out if she knew he was outside, in Connecticut, in October without a jacket, but his mom wasn’t here. The courtyard was empty, save for him, so of course he noticed when a body flopped down onto the bench next to him. He looked up, startled by the intrusion. 

The boy beside him was definitely not dressed to follow the dress code. His dirty jeans were ripped at both knees and ended in frayed cuffs resting just above heavy black boots. A faded black t-shirt topped off his ensemble. 

He tapped his boot against the pavement, as if he was hearing a beat that no one else could. A lit cigarette dangled between long fingers and his nails were covered in chipped black polish. As Steve's eyes traveled up, he found himself looking into a pair of sharp blue-gray eyes half hidden by an untidy mop of dark hair. 

The dark haired boy looked at Steve and defiantly brought the cigarette to his lips, daring him to say something.

Flustered, Steve was unable to look away. This was the same boy who had played the piano so beautifully before Steve had made an idiot out of himself.

The dark haired boy's cheeks hollowed as he took a drag on the cigarette. He blew out a steady stream of smoke from his nose before he flicked away the ash angrily. His hands trembled slightly as he brought the cigarette back to his mouth. “What the fuck are you looking at?”

Steve paled; he hadn’t meant to stare. “I— just… I wondered if you could maybe not smoke here? It’s bad for my asthma and—”

A sharp look from the dark haired boy made him stop mid-sentence. Steve swallowed loudly. “Never mind. I’ll just—”

"You want me to do what?" the dark haired boy asked, narrowing his eyes through the cloud of smoke that hung around him.

"Could you maybe put your cigarette out? Please?"

There was an indeterminate pause before the dark haired boy dropped the cigarette, stubbing it out with the toe of his boot. He pursed his lips and blew out the smoke from his last drag. “You the new kid?” he asked disinterestedly.

Steve nodded. “Steve Rogers,” he said, holding out his hand.

The other boy looked at Steve’s outstretched hand for a moment, and then wiped his own on his jeans before shaking hands. “James Barnes. You can call me Bucky, though.”

Feeling bold, Steve said, “I saw you, or heard you I guess. Playing piano on Wednesday night. I walked past the piano room and I don’t know what you were playing, but it was really nice.”

Bucky stared at him, narrowing his eyes. “That was you. What the hell were you doing anyway?”

Steve didn’t know what would sound worse, admitting that he had been drawing Bucky or admitting that he had basically been spying on him. “Uh, you know, just listening?”

“Are you asking me or telling me?”

“Telling you,” Steve said, deciding not to mention the sketch he’d done. “It was good, you sounded great. It was pretty.”

Bucky snorted. “Pretty? Let me guess, you’re an art student?”

Steve drew up his shoulders. “I am. What’s it to you?”

“Nothin’, punk, don’t get your panties in a twist. I’m just sayin’, I figured you for an art student because if you were in music, or even a dancer you never woulda said it was ‘pretty’, that’s all.”

“Makes sense I guess. How come I’ve never seen you in any of my classes?”

Bucky shrugged. “Probably because I just don’t show up to most of the classes I’m supposed to.”

“Oh, right. I see,” Steve said, unsure what to say to Bucky’s admission of simply not attending classes.

Bucky looked at Steve as he stood up from the bench. “See ya ‘round, punk.”

Steve watched Bucky walk away, wondering what exactly had just happened. 

* * * *

Steve didn’t see Bucky around, even though he specifically kept an eye out for him. After a few days it became clear to him that Bucky really _didn’t_ show up to most of his classes. He wasn’t sure why, but he wanted to know more about Bucky, he didn’t even know if Bucky was a junior like he was or if he were older. At least Steve was pretty sure Bucky wasn’t younger. Finally, his curiosity got the better of him and he decided to ask Natasha. She seemed to know everyone and everything that went on around Lakewood Academy. And she was always hanging around with Sam anyway, so it gave Steve the perfect opportunity to talk to her about Bucky.

“Hey, Natasha,” Steve started, trying to sound casual.

“Yeah, what is it?” Natasha asked, looking up from her Trigonometry book. Sam had finally asked her for help, and for once they were doing homework instead of making out.

“Do you know a kid named Bucky Barnes? He plays the piano—”

“James.” Natasha said, sitting up straighter. “What about him?”

Steve tipped his head to the side. “I dunno, I just wondered why I never saw him in any classes. What grade is he in?”

“He’s a junior, like we are,” she said. “Why are you asking about Bucky?”

“I… well he…” Steve sighed. “I met him the other day and I was just wondering.”

“Yeah, well, don’t wander too far Steve, you might get lost,” Natasha quipped.

“Nat, please, just tell the poor guy what he wants to know,” Sam chimed in.

“Fine, whatever. Bucky’s trouble, Steve. He can get away with pretty much anything and the worst thing that ever happens to him is detention. You call me a princess? Well trust me, Bucky is more of a princess than I’ll ever be.”

Steve frowned. “What are you talking about? I didn’t get a princess vibe from him, not at all.”

“Nah, James is pretty laid back. But his parents, well, they’ve got connections. Let’s just say that they’re richer than _my_ parents could ever dream of being.”

“So, he gets in trouble a lot?” Steve asked.

“You could say that. Yeah, Steve, if by being in detention more than any of the rest of the junior class combined means he’s in trouble a lot, then sure, you could say that.” Natasha said, returning her attention to her textbook.

“You heard my girl, Steve,” Sam said, “Don’t mess with Bucky.” Muttering under his breath to Natasha, Sam added, “I still don’t understand why they call him Bucky. What kinda name is Bucky?”

 “It’s a long story,” Natasha said. “Now, shut up and finish your homework, so we can do something else, Sam.” Natasha’s intentions were clear even if Steve hadn’t caught what she was hinting at.

“Thank god, I’ve got a class. I’ll be back later,” he told them, but neither Sam nor Natasha were listening.

* * * *

Three hours later, Steve scowled and slouched down in his seat. Detention. He had earned it, sure. Fighting was against the rules and he knew it. But why the hell was he sitting in detention when the guy he’d punched wasn’t? He alternated staring at the chalkboard in the front of the room and the back of Mr. Peretti’s head, silently fuming.

“So how’d you end up in detention?”

Steve whipped his head around at the sound of the familiar voice from the desk next to him. Bucky.

“I didn’t like the way some guy was treating the life model we were drawing today. He called her some really shitty names so I called him out about it. He laughed in my face so I punched him.”

“Jesus, _you_ punched someone?” Bucky asked incredulously.

“Yeah, what’s it to you?” Steve said, tensing up.

“Whoa, chill out. Good for you though.” Bucky leaned back in his chair, propping his feet up on the desk.

“Well, he stopped calling her names after that, but the teacher believed that scumbag’s story over mine and sent me to detention and not him.” Steve wondered why Bucky looked so happy for someone in detention. “Why are you here?”

“Didn’t feel like going to my piano technique class,” Bucky said nonchalantly.

“Do you _ever_ go to _any_ of your classes? Let me guess. No, you don’t and you’re in detention every day because of it.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Something like that.” He examined his fingernails disinterestedly. “I guess I hafta start. Dean Phillips said he talked to my father. Apparently he’s not happy with me.”

“Apparently?”

“Well, it’s not like he’d talk to me and tell me that. Pretty bad right, when your parents are so disappointed in you they won’t even tell you how disappointed they are?”

Once again, Steve didn’t know what to say to Bucky. “Hmm, yeah,” he finally said.  
  
“Anyway,” Bucky said, “Wanna get out of here?”

“How? We’re in detention.”   
  
“Yeah, so. Besides, Peretti is asleep. Come on, Rogers.” Bucky got up and started walking, not towards the door, towards the window.  
  
“Bucky, what are you doing?” Steve hissed. “We’re on the second floor!”  
  
“Yeah and there’s a fire escape one room over. Just walk along the ledge until you get there and you’re home free,” Bucky said, prying open the window.  
  
Steve sidled over the window, keeping his voice low. Just because Mr. Peretti was asleep didn’t mean he’d stay that way. “Why d’you want me to sneak out with you?”  
  
“I dunno, why not. You’re clearly a troublemaker, Rogers. Now come on, before the teacher wakes up!” Bucky hissed and climbed out the window, stepping onto the ledge like sneaking out of detention was a regular occurrence.

“Fine, but if we get caught, we’re gonna be in deep shit!” Steve whispered as he climbed out the window too. He could already feel his chest tightening. Jesus, the last thing he needed was to have a full blown asthma attack and fall off the side of the building.

Bucky climbed onto the fire escape, waiting for Steve to join him. “Live a little!”

Steve made in onto the wobbly fire escape, yanking his inhaler from his pocket. He wasted no time using it, holding up a finger, letting Bucky know he needed a minute.

“You alright?” Bucky asked, sounding slightly concerned.

After a minute, Steve could finally answer, “Yeah, ‘m fine. Just not used to such dangerous exits.”

“Well, stick with me, Rogers, and I’ll give you more danger than you bargained for,” Bucky said, smirking as he began climbing down the fire escape’s ladder.

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Steve answered. He clung to the railing on the fire escape as it swayed with Bucky’s movements and watched as Bucky hopped off the end of the ladder, tossing a wave over his shoulder.

“Catch you later, Rogers.”


	2. Why be predictable?

“ _Jesus_ , Steve, who were you fighting this time?” Natasha asked, throwing up her arms in exasperation.

Steve sniffed and swiped the back of his hand across his nose. He looked down at his hand before answering. Good, only a few drops of blood. “Just some dickweed who tried’ta say Sam was gonna steal from the store.”

“Where _is_ Sam?” Natasha peered around Steve, looking for her boyfriend.

“I’m here,” Sam called out, juggling two sacks of groceries in each arm. “I had to carry all the stuff you wanted, because Steve here was too busy bleeding all over the sidewalk.”

“I send you two out for party supplies and you come back bleeding, Steve.” Natasha rolled her eyes. “I hope you at least got everything I asked for.”

“Yes, we did, thank you, Sam,” Sam said sarcastically. He set down the bags on the common room table and kissed Natasha’s cheek.

“Thank you, Sam,” she said, smiling as she dug through the bags. “So, what really happened?”

Sam made a face. “You know, same old shit. I’d swear we went to the store in Alabama instead of Connecticut. These two dudes were making cracks about me shoplifting just because I’m black. I just ignored ‘em, whatever. It’s never worth it to start any trouble. But, no, tell that to this guy over here,” he said, jerking his thumb towards Steve. “He thinks he’s Captain America or something.”

“It wasn’t right,” Steve said. “So I told ‘em to quit it. They wouldn’t, so I threw a punch at one of ‘em.”

“You’d better hope Dean Phillips doesn’t hear about this, Steve. One more fight and you might lose your scholarship,” Natasha reminded him.

“I know, but I couldn’t let those guys get away with calling Sam names. This is nineteen-eighty-six, not eighteen-eighty-six!”

“Yeah, and you couldn’t get away without getting a bloody nose, a black eye and having an asthma attack either,” Sam said sarcastically.

“So, what are you throwing this party for again? It’s a little early for a Halloween party, isn’t it?” Steve asked Natasha, trying to change the subject.

“No, not a Halloween party. Why be predictable? It’s a just because party.”

“Don’t question her, Steve, just don’t do it,” Sam said. His expression was solemn, but his eyes sparkled with laughter.

“C’mon you two, we’ve only got an hour before people are going to start showing up. I need _you_ ,” she said pointing at Sam, “to hang streamers. And _you_ ,” she pointed at Steve, “to make some signs to hang in the hallway and one for the common room door, so people know where to go.”

* * * *

An hour and a half later, the party was in full swing. Natasha had commandeered the common room on their end of the hall and most of the junior class was there, along with a few other kids from different grades, mostly friends of friends. The music was loud and Steve wondered how anyone was supposed to actually enjoy this. He’d made the signs for Natasha, had helped set up the food and punch and now he was ready to call it a night. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, the fight earlier at the grocery store had taken a lot out of him.

He wondered if Bucky would come to the party. He couldn’t decide if the party seemed like Bucky’s scene or if it was something Bucky would think was lame. In Steve’s Psychology textbook, it said that on average, it took sixty-six days to form a habit. He hadn’t kept count, not really, but he knew it had to be close to sixty-six days since he’d first seen Bucky Barnes. Not that he’d been keeping track, and he knews he hadn’t seen him every day since that day he’d watched him in the piano room, but it had definitely become a habit to look for him in the hallways and every classroom he passed.

Steve leaned against the wall at the back of the room, just observing, wondering how long Sam and Natasha were expecting him to stay.

“Steve, this is a party, why do you look like you’re waiting in the dentist’s office?” Sam asked, cutting through a group of people, two cups of apple cider in hand. He  handed one to Steve, keeping the other for himself.

Steve shrugged, eyes scanning the room as he sipped the cider. “Hey, isn't that the RA?” he asked, pointing to a slightly older blond guy standing near the food.

“Yeah, that’s Clint. He's cool, don't worry, he's not gonna bust us or anything,” Sam said. “He's too busy trying to flirt with Kate anyway.”

From across the room they could both see Clint trying to impress Natasha’s roommate, Kate, a girl with long, dark hair while he tried to pick up two pieces of pizza. Kate, said something and made a face at Clint, scrunching up her nose. Clint’s jaw dropped and both pieces of pizza slipped from his fingers. Even though Clint tried to catch them, both pieces fell to the floor and even above the music, Steve could hear Kate giggling.

Steve was still trying to figure out how to sneak out without Sam or Natasha noticing when he saw Bucky sauntering into the party.

“James!” Natasha exclaimed, rushing over to throw her arms around Bucky’s shoulders.

Steve waited to see if Bucky would tolerate her hug, and not only did he tolerate it, but he returned it, patting Natasha’s back as they embraced. He barely noticed Sam walking up and standing beside him. Until he heard Sam laughing to himself.

“I thought she said to stay away, that Bucky was trouble?” Steve asked, feeling confused. Was the punch spiked? Did he miss Natasha admitting her love for Bucky at some point? What was going on?

“Yeah, he is a mess, but Natasha loves him,” Sam said wistfully.

“Loves him?” Steve asked, wondering if Sam was jealous. If Sam had a reason to be jealous.

Sam shook his head. “Not like that, they just go way back, you know? Rich kids with nannies, they took lessons together as kids or something. There’s stuff about Natasha I don’t think she’ll ever talk to me about, but he knows it man, knows her… not better, just different than me. Different than I ever will.”

Steve nodded thoughtfully. Then something Sam said clicked. “They took lessons together? But I thought Nat didn't play any instruments?”

“I never said they were _music_ lessons,” Sam said, raising his eyebrows and giving Steve a look.

Steve didn’t have time to think about the implications of Sam’s words further, because just then, Natasha came over, joined by Bucky.

“Hey man,” Sam said, holding out his hand for Bucky to high-five.

Bucky high-fived Sam and nodded.

“Steve,” Natasha said, “this is James.”

“We've already met,” Steve and Bucky said at the same time.

“More than once, actually,” Steve added.

“And besides that, no one but Nat here calls me James,” Bucky said, giving her a withering look.

Steve tried not to stare at Bucky, but it was almost impossible to tear his eyes away. Noticing Bucky's outfit, the ripped jeans again—the same pair or identical ones—and a faded t-shirt, this one white, Steve swallowed. Bucky looked really good. He was sure he was blushing and he suddenly felt overdressed. His jeans weren't new but they were in much better shape than Bucky's and the soft gray sweater he wore was baggy on his small frame, but at least he was warm. Maybe a little too warm. Finally forcing himself to look away, he turned in Natasha’s direction. She took in Steve’s flushed appearance and a small smile ghosted across her lips.

“Whatever, _James_ ,” Natasha said adamantly as she pulled Sam away. “C’mon, dance with me, Sam.”

Sam didn’t protest as Natasha dragged him closer to the stereo, a fast song pumping out of the speakers. Steve watched, shaking his head and chuckling at his friends. He only turned towards Bucky when he couldn’t shake the sensation that Bucky was staring at him.

“What happened to your face?”

For a second, Steve didn’t understand Bucky’s question. He thought Bucky was teasing him about the fact that he was blushing and he drew up his shoulders defensively. Then he remembered his black eye. “Oh, nothing I couldn’t handle. I just really hate bullies.”

“You got into another fight, Rogers? How do they even let you outside?” Bucky said, shaking his head and looking down woefully. A second later he looked back up at Steve and broke into laughter, giving Steve a tiny shove on his shoulder.

“No, well I mean now I can do pretty much what I want. But no.”

“What do you mean _no_?” Bucky asked, leaning close to hear Steve over the loud music.

 “I mean, no, my mom didn’t like to let me outside or let me play with the other kids on our street much. She was always afraid I’d get into a fight, or get hurt. It probably didn’t help that I was always getting sick…”

“You? Fighting who?”

“Everyone. Anyone who insulted me, or was a jerk. So basically everyone.”

“Even though you’re a scrawny little punk?” Bucky asked, his face inches from Steve’s.

“I used to be the _scrawniest_ kid ever.”

“What?” Bucky scoffed. “No way, I refuse to believe you grew and that you were even scrawnier than you are now.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “No, it’s the truth. Up until I was fourteen or so, I was a tiny kid, always getting sick.”

“Steve, you’re still tiny. I bet you’d be lucky if you weighed a hundred pounds soaking wet.”

“Shut up, Bucky. I bet I could still kick your ass.”

“Yeah, I know, you’re a hundred pounds of pain in the ass,” Bucky said. He sounded serious, but he was smirking.

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve said, waving Bucky off. “Anyway, that’s why I learned to draw. It was because I was a scrawny little punk that my mom decided I needed a nice, safe, indoor hobby. I took art classes three times a week, every Monday, Wednesday and Friday. And Mom made me practice for at least an hour every day.”

“Well, it paid off. Your sketches are awesome,” Bucky said, so quietly that Steve almost didn’t hear him.

“Aah, thanks.” Steve hoped he wasn’t blushing. “Wait, how did you see my sketches?”

Bucky shrugged. “I may have been hanging around the art wing the other day. All those sketches, just hanging on the walls, lining the hallway, yeah, I had some time to kill, so I looked around until I found yours.”

So not only had Bucky just complimented Steve’s sketch work, but he’d purposely gone and looked for Steve’s drawings. “Thanks,” he finally said, feeling his cheeks heating up again.

“Saw your self-portrait too,” Bucky said, smiling slyly.  “Not sure you got the nose right though.”

Steve sighed, smiling wryly. He hadn’t been happy with most of that self-portrait, he’d rather drawn anyone other than himself.

“I thought you did a good job of the way this hair’s always flopping across your forehead. You mighta got the color wrong,” Bucky said reaching out to push Steve’s hair out of his eyes. “You’re more of a dirty blond. You got the blue of your eyes about right though.”

“I uh, thanks… thank you,” Steve stammered. His heart hammered in his chest at Bucky’s casual touch.

“So, what do you think of Nat’s party? She’s kinda famous for these,” Bucky said over the music.

“Yeah, uh, it’s alright. It’s not really my thing.” Steve looked around and saw Sam and Natasha still dancing across the room, good, the last thing he wanted was Natasha to hear him say that he didn’t like her party.

Bucky laughed easily. “Yeah, I can see that. You wanna get the hell out of here?”

Steve crossed his arms over his chest. “You’re not going to make me climb out a window again, are you?”

“No, not this time. We’ll just walk right out the door.”

Steve had already been thinking of leaving and if he left with Bucky, well he could use that as an excuse if Natasha got mad at him later on. “Yeah, ok, sure,” he told Bucky, “We’ll walk right out the door. After you.” He waved an arm in the direction of the door, waiting to see if Bucky was serious.

And Bucky was serious, he turned away from Steve, walked through the crowd of people, pausing only to grab a cup of cider and walked out of the common room. He didn’t even stop to say goodbye to Natasha. Steve watched him go, feeling like he had missed his chance. It wasn’t until Bucky stuck his head back through the common room door and waved him over that Steve moved.

When he joined Bucky in the hallway, he felt slightly guilty for leaving without telling Sam he was going. “Maybe I should just,” he cocked a thumb towards the party.

“No, no way. You go back in there and Nat sees you? She’ll never let you leave.”

Steve knew it was true. Natasha would guilt him into staying and he wouldn’t even know she’d done it until it was too late. “Good point. I guess you really do know Nat pretty well,” Steve said, moving away from the noisy common room.

“Yeah. Yeah, you could say that,” Bucky said with a small smile. “So, you want to get out of here?” Bucky gulped the small cup of cider down, crumpling the cup and tossed into the trash can outside the common room door.

“What do you mean, get out of here?” Steve said, looking up and down the empty hallway.

“Well, unless you got big plans elsewhere or an early bed time, I’m asking if you want to come back to my room.” Bucky stuck his hands into his pockets, rocking back on his heels.

“Sure,” Steve said. Suddenly he wasn’t so tired anymore and he couldn’t think of anything he’d rather do than spend time with Bucky.

* * * *

Bucky’s dorm room wasn’t anything like the room Steve shared with Sam. For one thing, there was only one bed; clearly Bucky didn’t have a roommate. However, the big difference was the state of Bucky’s room. There were piles of papers and books everywhere. A keyboard was set up in the space where a second bed should have been, a guitar leaning against it and in the far corner of the room there was a drum kit. There was a short table cluttered with more books and papers that held a small coffee pot.

Steve stepped inside the room, his shoes barely making contact with the carpet through the layers of junk on the floor. “Jeez, you ever clean in here, Bucky?” he asked, wondering how the room had gotten so messy in such a short amount of time.

“I do a lotta things in here, Rogers, but cleaning ain’t one of ‘em.”

“Right. I can see that,” Steve retorted, eyes scanning the room.

“What are you, some kinda neat freak?” Bucky asked, scoffing as he shut the door behind them.

“Nah, I just don’t want to be afraid of getting tetanus in here.”

“I don’t have any needles in here, so I think you’re safe,” Bucky said, flopping down on the unmade bed. He looked at Steve. “Well, you just gonna stand there all night or what?”

“No, I’m just, I’m gonna…” Steve hastily looked around for a chair. Finding none, he sat down on the bed next to Bucky.

“You mind if I smoke?” Bucky asked.

“Really?” Steve said, tipping his head to the side to show his annoyance. “We’ve been through this, asthma, remember?”

“Nah, not a cigarette. Weed,” Bucky said, rolling onto his side to rummage through open nightstand drawer. He held up a lighter and a joint. “Besides, they used to make people with asthma smoke pot, doctors and stuff, like it was medicine.”

“Fine, just open a window or something,” Steve said.

Bucky handed Steve the lighter and joint and got up to pry open the window. The cool fall air gusted into the room and Steve was suddenly glad for his cozy sweater.

Sprawling back across the bed, Bucky held out his hand for Steve to give him back the lighter and joint.

"What's it like?" Steve asked

Bucky smiled lazily and said, "It's different every time. Sometimes it feels a little like I’m floating. Sometimes I just get sort of lazy and happy and I can't stop laughing. Sometimes I get really creative. That's my personal favorite high. The high where I feel like I can do anything, create anything and all my troubles just melt away.”

Steve contemplated this, but before he had chance to speak, Bucky casually asked, "You want to find out what it’s like?"

Steve didn’t know why, but he trusted Bucky. “Sure, okay, yeah. Why not.” He had his inhaler in his pocket, as it was all the time, so if the smoke did bother him like regular cigarettes he shouldn’t have any problems.

"You're sure?” Bucky asked. “Because if I’m gonna contribute to your delinquency I don’t need to have you being filled with regret about it later on my conscience."

"No, I really want to do it," Steve insisted. And he did, he wasn’t sure _why_ , he’d never really thought about smoking pot before, no one had ever offered it to him.

Bucky smiled and flicked on the lighter, bringing the joint to his lips with his other hand. He inhaled deeply, holding his breath for a while before letting the smoke stream through his lips.

Steve’s mind wandered, watching Bucky’s lips around the joint, and the relaxed, half-asleep look on his face.

Bucky held out the joint, offering it to Steve. Taking the joint from Bucky’s fingers, he hesitated a moment before placing it between his lips like Bucky had done. He sucked on it and got a dry, warm feeling in his mouth. He waited a second then opened his mouth, the smoke pouring out. It didn’t taste bad, it was almost fruity, actually. It was nothing like the way tobacco smelled.

“You're supposed to inhale it. Not just taste it,” Bucky said, chuckling at him.

Steve cocked his head to the side, feeling confused. “But I did what you did.” Great, now Bucky was laughing at him.

"Nah, not really. You just have to suck in a little then breathe in normally. Kinda the same way you use your inhaler."

Steve did what Bucky instructed, treating the joint like his inhaler. He sucked in, holding the smoke in his mouth a second before swallowing and then exhaling. It kind of tingled in his throat but he didn't feel much different.

Bucky seemed to be able to read his thoughts. "Just wait a bit. It needs a little bit of time to start working," he said, holding out his hand for Steve to pass the joint back.

The sat like that, Bucky laying back and smoking expertly then passing the joint to Steve, who sat leaning against the wall.

Steve wasn’t sure _what_ he was supposed to feel, but above all else, he felt comfortable.

“You’re the first, you know,” he said, looking down at Bucky.

Bucky’s expression was a mixture of surprise and confusion. “The first what?” he asked, handing the joint up to Steve.

Steve took a hit before answering. “The first person here to actually ask me to hang out with them. I don’t fit in here.”

“What’re you talking about?” Bucky asked, clearly confused. “You’re with Sam and Nat all the time.”

“Yeah, but that’s only because Sam’s my roommate and Natasha is his girlfriend,” Steve explained. “I’m not like most of these kids, they have rich parents, expensive stuff. I’m here on a scholarship and everyone knows it.”

“Sam’s here on a scholarship too, and I’m sure there are other kids, aren’t there?”

“I dunno. Yeah, I mean, Sam is too, but he’s been here since freshmen year and he’s dating Natasha so he’s still got an advantage. I’ve only been here for like two months.”

“Man, Rogers, you worry too much. Why do you care about what people think?” Bucky asked, drawling lazily, leaving what was left of the joint to smolder in a small ashtray made of green glass.

“I don’t, not really. I just get tired of not having any friends,” Steve sighed, closing his eyes. “I mean, besides Sam,” he added hastily. Sam really was a great friend. Steve was pretty sure Sam didn’t mean to make him feel like a third wheel all the time, but that’s how it was. “I’m not alone, I know that. I like being here at Lakewood, I’m just lonely.” Steve knew he was babbling, but he couldn’t seem to stop. He wasn’t upset, he was merely _telling_ Bucky. Steve wasn't sure he really was lonely, but maybe, just maybe, he was…

 

Even with the window open, a cloud of smoke hung around them and Steve felt like there was smoke in his brain.

Bucky’s voice cut through the smoke, quiet and steady. “I know what it’s like to be lonely, even when you’re not alone. You don’t have to be lonely, Steve.”

He felt fuzzy but focused, as if all of his senses were heightened. Steve, Bucky had called him Steve and not Rogers. At that moment, Steve couldn’t think of any place else he’d rather be than crammed onto the small bed with Bucky. Steve slid down the wall so he was lying across the bed, next to Bucky.

“You don’t gotta be lonely, Steve,” Bucky said again.

Steve opened his eyes to find Bucky, propped up on one elbow, staring at him and his breath caught in his throat because Bucky was right there. They were so close they were breathing each other’s air. Bucky's room smelled of pot and the crisp fall air, and so did Bucky, but he smelled of other things too, things like leather and fresh soap and apple cider.

 Bucky’s eyes were bright and he smiled with a dazzling intensity that made Steve want to blink. “I have a confession to make, Steve,” he said, biting the corner of his lip. “I might be a little drunk right now.”

“Drunk? But we didn’t—”

“Wasn’t done yet, Steve,” Bucky said cheerfully. Half of his mouth turned up in a brief grin. “I may have already been a little drunk _before_ I came to Natasha’s party, but that wasn’t the confession. What I wanted to tell you is… I wanted to tell you that I really want to kiss you right now.”

“Bucky—” Steve said, only to be interrupted as Bucky crashed his lips down, gentle yet firm, cutting Steve’s words off with a kiss. When they kissed Bucky's mouth was soft and the tart apple cinnamon flavor of the cider mingled on his tongue with the taste of what they'd smoked.

Bucky's tongue darted out, swift and cat-like, skimming at the corners of Steve's mouth. It sent shivers down the base of Steve’s spine and for a moment, he lost all sense of anything besides Bucky's mouth on his.

Steve was overwhelmed by a rush of feelings. Mostly surprise at first, that this was actually happening, then a strange, giddy feeling. Excitement squirmed in his stomach, pulsing up to his chest. But it didn’t feel like an asthma attack, not tight and strangled, no, it felt light and loose and indescribable. Bucky pulled back from Steve for just a moment, and Bucky’s blue eyes felt like they could see right through him.

Neither spoke a word and Bucky opened his lips ever so slightly. “Are you okay with this, Steve?” he whispered, his lips brushing against Steve’s.

Steve didn’t trust himself to speak, so he pulled at the hem of Bucky's shirt, pulling him closer. Bucky giggled, a quiet, nervous sound, and then leaned into Steve again, pressing his mouth firmly against Steve’s.

Steve gasped and the kiss became entirely different. Steve felt Bucky's lips move against his, and he hesitantly responded. Steve’s arms went around Bucky pulling him against him. He could feel Bucky’s heart pounding underneath his shirt, and he knew his heart was echoing the same beat. Bucky's hands moved to cup Steve's face, angling for better access. Bucky's lips were soft against his and Steve knew that he would compare every kiss after this to the way Bucky kissed. After a couple of minutes, their kisses turned chaste, before Bucky pulled away completely.

 They were both breathing hard, and Bucky's pupils were wide, his eyes unfocused, his hair was a tousled mess and Steve imagined his looked the same.

Bucky looked at him, smiling softly and he could feel a stirring in his stomach.

“Steve, ‘m tired, so tired,” Bucky said. The smile fading from his face, he closed his eyes.

“Then sleep, Bucky,” Steve whispered against Bucky’s temple, pushing himself back into a sitting position. It only took a moment and Bucky’s eyelids stopped fluttering, his chest rising and falling slowly.

Steve waited, watching Bucky sleep. Even in his intoxicated state, he marveled at the way Bucky looked so different in his sleep, so soft and relaxed.

When he was certain Bucky was asleep, Steve stood, making sure the room wasn’t spinning before he stumbled back to his own room. The party was long over, the common room dark as he passed. Letting himself into the room he shared with Sam, Steve saw that Sam was fast asleep on his bed. Good, then they could avoid an awkward conversation about where he had been all night. Steve stripped off his jeans and sweater, slipping into the pair of plaid pajama pants and plain, white t-shirt that he slept in. He fell into bed, pulling the covers up around his ears and fell asleep.

Steve slept heavily for a few hours, only to wake up feeling like he was on fire, but at the same time, he couldn’t seem to get warm enough. Sweat soaked the sheets underneath him while he shook from the cold. He should have known better, shouldn’t have stayed in Bucky’s room so long with the window open. He cracked open his eyes and checked his clock. It was three in the morning; he’d only been asleep for a little while.

He didn’t have any classes, so at least he didn’t have to get up early. Steve closed his eyes and tried to sleep, hoping that he would feel better when he woke up. He fell into a broken sleep only to start feeling worse. Even though he was lying down, he felt shaky and found it hard to breathe. He heard Sam get up and leave for dance practice and still Steve stayed in bed.

 Sometime after Sam left, his cough took up and wouldn’t stop, making him dizzy and lightheaded. Steve tried to get out of bed; he knew he probably needed to go to the infirmary. He forced his eyes open, but it was hard to get them to stay that way and every time they shut, it was harder to open them again. He tried to focus, but his skin was drenched in sweat, he felt like he was suffocating and alll he could hear were the sounds of his own ragged breathing.

Steve briefly wondered if he could reach the phone, it was on the wall between his bed and Sam's, the cord stretched the entire way across the room, so if he got it off the hook, he could get back into bed with it once he had dialed the number. But the middle of the room looked so far away and his head was spinning even laying down.

Who would he call anyway, if he did get to the phone? Sam was at practice, so was Natasha, he didn't know anyone else's room extension, not Clint's, not the number for the infirmary or even Bucky's. Even if he had, did he really want Bucky to see him like this? No. No, he didn't. Steve decided he would rather suffer than have Bucky see him this sick. He had no idea how Bucky might react.

Steve hated the thought of _anyone_ seeing him this sick. It was bad enough that Sam would have to come back and see him like this. He couldn’t get out of bed, he knew it wasn’t happening. All he could hope was that Sam would be back soon. Steve knew Sam would know what to do, how to help, once he saw how bad Steve looked.

He drifted in and out of sleep, Bucky's face edging in and out of his fevered vision.

He must have slept a few hours, because the next thing Steve knew, Sam was shaking him by the shoulder.

“Steve, hey man, are you alright?” Sam’s voice was concerned, edging towards panic.

Steve tried to open his mouth, to tell Sam that he was sick, but he was okay. But he found he couldn’t even pry open his eyes and all he managed was a quiet croak. Somewhere through his haze he heard Natasha’s voice.

“I’m calling Clint, he’ll know what to do,” she said.

Steve managed to open his eyes then, trying to focus on Natasha’s face. All he could see was the red-gold halo of her hair around her face. He blinked and Sam’s face swam into focus to his left. With a heavy sigh, Steve closed his eyes again, drifting in and out of consciousness.

_“How the hell did he get so sick? Wasn’t he fine last night?”_

_“I don’t know! I don’t know, Clint. He was like this when we came back from dance practice!”_

_“Steve’s so tiny and he’s got asthma, I’m not surprised, that’s why I called you. We have to get him to the infirmary!”_


	3. You don’t drink it for the taste, Steve

Pneumonia. Steve wasn’t surprised. It wasn’t the first time. He recovered slowly, drifting in and out of wakefulness, spending a few days where he slept and day and all night, between doses of antibiotics.

After nearly a week in the infirmary, he was finally allowed visitors. Natasha, and not Sam, was the first one to stop by. She looked sheepish and filled with concern, bringing Steve his sketchbook and a pack of pencils.

 “Thanks for what you did, Natasha.” Steve said, trying to find a comfortable position against the thin pillows.

“Steve, I didn’t do a damn thing. I called Clint and then he carried you down here,” Natasha said, shaking her head, taking a seat in the chair beside Steve’s bed. “And the nurse and doctor here are the ones who really got you fixed up.”

“Well, tell Sam and Clint thanks from me, until I can tell them myself, will you?”

“Yeah, sure, of course,” Natasha assured him. “Steve,” she said, her tone changing, “I wanted to talk to you about something. The nurse was telling me that you talked about Bucky when you were delirious,” Natasha finished, her lips forming a small frown.

“Oh, really? I was? That’s pretty weird, right?” Steve said, wishing he could dive underneath the blankets.

“Steve, do you like Bucky?” Natasha asked bluntly.

“Sure, I like him, I mean I know what you said, but he's a nice guy. He really is.”

“Steve...” Natasha said pointedly.

“It wasn't his fault I got sick, Natasha! I should have known better'n to let him have the window open, as cold as it was. Oh wow, did he even know I got sick? I bet he feels so guilty, is that why he didn't come visit me? He _didn't_ come visit, right?” Steve said, alarmed that maybe Bucky heard him saying things he shouldn't have.

“Steve, that’s not what I mean,” Natasha interrupted him. “Do you _like_ Bucky.”

The words took a second to make it into Steve's still fuzzy brain. “Oh. Oh? Oh! I mean, I don't, I'm not even. Bucky's not...”

“Steve, _I'm_ not going to judge you, just you know, watch yourself. Watch what you say, who you say it to, okay?”

“Yeah, sure. Thanks, Natasha.” Steve wasn't sure _how_ he felt about Bucky, he only knew he wanted to see him again.

After a moment, Steve asked, “So, Bucky didn’t come to visit, did he?”

“No,” Natasha said, “I’m the first person they let in, since that afternoon Clint carried  you in here.”

 “Good, I’m glad, I didn't want him to see me like this.”

“You know, you practically slept right through Halloween,” Sam said, appearing behind Natasha. He dumped a brown paper bag onto the bed, spreading out a pile of candy. "I brought you some candy, but I wasn't sure what you liked.” Sam picked up a small chocolate bar and unwrapped it, offering it to Steve.

Steve accepted the candy bar, enjoying the sweet taste of the chocolate on his tongue.

“So, when are they letting you out of here?” Sam asked, breaking the silence that been filled only with the crinkle of candy wrappers.

Steve finished chewing and swallowed. “Tomorrow morning and then I can go back to classes and stuff on Monday. You know I appreciate it, but you guys don't have to waste your Friday night hanging out in the infirmary with me. I promise I won't be upset.”

Natasha and Sam exchanged a look. "You sure?" Sam asked.  
  
Steve nodded. “I've got candy and my sketchbook, it's fine really.”

Natasha smiled. "Only if you're sure, Steve. I thought we'd go back to my room and watch scary movies,” Natasha said, referring to the fact that she had a TV and VCR in her room.

“Kate won't mind?” Steve asked.

“Nope, she's on a date anyway,” Sam answered.

“She says it's _not_ a date,” Natasha said to Sam, rolling her eyes. Turning to Steve she added, "She went to a Halloween party with Clint, so that'll be a fun story to listen to when she gets back.”

Sam and Natasha left and as glad as Steve was for their visit, he was happier to be alone. He’d talked about Bucky while he was delirious, but Bucky hadn’t tried to visit him or anything.

Steve set pencil to paper, intending to draw something for Halloween, but every ghost of a scary idea he had turned into visions of Bucky’s face. He stayed up into the night, straight through morning, drawing Bucky and eating candy. He  didn’t feel tired, even though he was still recovering; he didn’t feel like sleeping either, he’d slept all day and the better part of the past several days.

* * * *

It was evening before Steve was released from the infirmary, with bottles of antibiotics and cough syrup and strict instructions to return if anything got worse or his fever came back. Upon returning to his room, he found that someone, Natasha and Sam most likely, had hung the streamers from the party in his and Sam’s dorm room.

“Welcome back, man,” Sam greeted him, pulling Steve into a tight hug, clapping him on the back.

“Thanks, Sam,” Steve said, when Sam let him go and he could breathe again.

“Glad you’re still in the land of the living, Steve,” Natasha said, smiling warmly. She didn’t offer to hug Steve, but that was alright, he knew she wasn’t any less glad that he was okay than Sam was.

“We thought we’d hang out with you tonight, make sure you’re not alone on your first evening out of the infirmary,” Sam said. “So we thought we’d have a little bit of a welcome back party.”

“Don’t think this makes up for you sneaking out of my party though,” Natasha scolded him. She was still smiling though, so Steve figured she wasn’t too mad. That was the thing about getting really ill like he had, people tended not to hold grudges.

“Can we get some pizza then, if it’s a party? Because I’m starving, the food in the infirmary is even worse than the stuff from the cafeteria,” Steve said, settling onto his own bed.

“Sure, I think I can manage that,” Natasha said, walking towards the phone. “You mind if I order from Marco’s? They’re always the fastest delivery.”

“I don’t mind where it’s from, as long as it’s pizza,” Steve told her.

“Hey, Steve, I know it’s your welcome back,” Sam said, “But do you mind if we watch The A-Team?”

Steve laughed. “No Sam, I don’t mind.” He’d never admit it, but he didn’t mind the shows Sam liked to watch.

“Great,” Sam said, getting up to flip on the small black and white television. It wasn’t as big or as new as the television Natasha had in her room, but she joined them, sitting on Sam’s bed to watch without complaining.

“Pizza should be here in a half-hour,” she told Steve. “I hope you’re hungry because I ordered two extra-large.”

“I hope you got mushrooms on at least half of one,” Sam said, grinning as Natasha frowned in disgust.

* * * *

Later that night, full of pizza and lying in his own, more comfortable bed, Steve found he still couldn’t sleep. Natasha had gone back to her room hours ago, Sam was asleep but Steve was wide awake. He tried, he really did try to fall asleep, laying in the dark, eyes closed, listening to Sam snore, but it wasn’t working. Knowing he couldn’t lay in bed any longer, Steve decided he would go for a walk outside. Not wanting to take any more risks with his health, he bundled up. He grabbed his heavy, down filled jacket, the scarf his mom had knitted for him and a blue beanie, shoving it on his head before he grabbed his sketchbook and a pencil and slipped out the door without waking Sam.

Steve knew he was breaking the rules and he didn’t care; almost dying will do that to you. He walked through the quiet halls of the school, wincing as his sneakers squeaked on the freshly waxed floors.

He saw a lone figure, sitting on a bench in the courtyard. There were lights nearby, and even half hidden in the shadows, Steve could tell it was Bucky. He was perched on the top of the bench, his feet on the seat, smoking and looking down at his boots. His outfit looked nearly identical to what he’d worn the last time Steve saw him, with the addition of a leather jacket in deference to the cold October night.

Steve saw Bucky long before Bucky saw him. He got close enough to smell the tobacco smoke filtering through the cold air before Bucky noticed him. Steve didn’t want to startle Bucky, so he announced his presence. “Hey.”

Bucky looked up, squinting in the darkness. He put out his cigarette, smiling at Steve. “Rogers, is that you?” he asked. Oh, so Bucky was back to calling him Rogers again.

Steve nodded. “Yeah, it’s me. You mind if I take a seat?”

“Jesus, Rogers, you look like shit,” Bucky said. “What happened to you?”

Steve sat down next to Bucky, leaning back and watching his breath puff around him. Apparently Bucky had no idea that he’d spent the last week in the infirmary. “Nothing,” he finally said.

Bucky slid down, sitting next to Steve on the seat of the bench. Steve opened up his sketchbook and started moving the pencil across the page. He hadn’t meant to, but a person began to take shape on the page, he knew he was drawing Bucky. He was sketching Bucky the way he’d been perched on the bench, the shadows around him the cloud of smoke in front of his face. Steve sketched until he felt Bucky’s eyes on him, then he snapped the sketchbook shut hurriedly. He wasn’t sure he wanted Bucky knowing that he was drawing him again.

When Steve closed his sketchbook, Bucky looked at him quizzically before sliding over closer. As Bucky moved closer, Steve fought the urge to reach out and touch Bucky’s face, to see how cold his skin felt.

“Hey, seriously. Where have you been the past couple of days? I haven’t seen you around. I thought…” Bucky looked away from Steve, mumbling towards his lap, “I thought maybe you were avoiding me.”

“Why would I be avoiding you?” Steve asked, choosing not to answer Bucky’s question about where he’d been.

“Well,” Bucky said, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck, “I’m not real sure what happened last Friday night, but if I did something stupid, I’m sorry.” He looked back up, meeting Steve’s eyes briefly, before he shoved his hands in his pockets and sighed, letting his head fall back against the bench.

“I don’t really remember much about last Friday night, Bucky,” Steve said. “I know we ditched the party and went to your room, I remember smoking with you, but… well, the thing is, I ended up getting really sick and pretty much spent most of the last week in the infirmary.” As if his body wanted to remind Steve just how sick he’d been, he broke into a cough. It took him a few minutes to stop, his eyes watering but when he did, he noticed Bucky looking at him. At first, he appeared angry, then aghast.

“Steve, jeez. Why didn’t you let me know?” Bucky reached out, laying a hand on Steve’s shoulder. “It’s my fucking fault, I’m sorry. I never should have—”

“No, it’s not your fault, Bucky. I just have a shitty immune system. I get sick a lot.”

Bucky shook his head, still not accepting that he wasn’t to blame. “How come you didn’t let me know? I would have come and visited you.”

“I didn’t want you to,” Steve said.

Bucky’s face fell. “Oh, I see how it is,” he said simply, letting his hand fall from Steve’s shoulder.

“No! I didn’t mean it like that. I was just embarrassed, I didn’t want you to see how sick I was. And I wasn’t really allowed visitors the first couple of days anyway,” Steve said.

Bucky nodded, accepting Steve’s explanation. “You sure you should be outside right now, since you were just so sick?”

“I’ll be fine. I’m not even cold, I’m all bundled up,” Steve said, gesturing to his hat, scarf and heavy coat.

Bucky poked Steve’s arm, chuckling a little. “Yeah, I see that. You look like the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man. Long as you’re sure. Don’t go doing anything stupid on my account. I don’t need you getting sick again.” He leaned over, reaching under the bench and pulling out a paper bag. “You want some?” he asked, pulling a bottle filled with clear liquid from the bag and offering it to Steve.

“What is that?” Steve asked, unable to tell in the dim light just what Bucky was offering him.

“Vodka,” Bucky answered with a lopsided grin.

“Bucky! How the hell did you get a bottle of vodka?”

“I was at the grocery store at nine this morning buying vodka and Skittles and if that isn't what being an adult is about, then I don't want to hear it,” Bucky said, unscrewing the cap and lifting the bottle to his lips.

“But you're not an adult though, Bucky,” Steve said.

 Bucky took a swig from the bottle before answering. “I know that Steve, don't you think I know. I hear it all the damn time from teachers, from my parents,” Bucky said, his voice rising. “I can't do what I like, I can’t like what I do; I'm not an adult. I can't make decisions about my life. I'm _not an adult_.” Bucky held the bottle out to Steve, again offering him the vodka.

Steve took the bottle, holding it uncertainly.

“You’re supposed to drink it, Steve,” Bucky said.

Steve took a small sip, feeling the alcohol burn his throat. “Ugh, this tastes like shit,” he said, passing the bottle back to Bucky.

“You don’t drink it for the taste, Steve. You drink alcohol to get rid of the bad taste that every awful thing in your life has left in your mouth.” Bucky took a long swig and then passed the bottle back to Steve.

Steve toyed with the bottle, trying to work up the nerve to say something meaningful to Bucky, to say anything at all. “You don’t have to listen to them, you know.”

Bucky snorted. “You think I don’t do my best to never listen? Why do you think I’m such a loser, Steve?”

“You’re not a loser,” Steve protested. “I think you’re pretty cool.”

“Well, you might be the only one to think that, Steve,” Bucky said ruefully. “But I’m glad you do.”

Steve smiled and returned the bottle of vodka to Bucky. As he handed it back, his fingertips brushed Bucky’s and for a second, they stayed that way, fingers touching as they both held the bottle.

“Steve, can I ask you a question?” Bucky said, as Steve reluctantly let go of the bottle, holding his hands in his lap.

“You just did, Bucky.”

“What? You punk, you know what I meant,” Buck said, nudging Steve with his shoulder.

“Yeah, yeah, go ahead, what is it you want to ask?”

“You have a girlfriend?” Bucky asked in a rush, the words tumbling together.

“No,” Steve laughed.

Bucky took a long drink from the bottle of vodka before offering it to Steve again. When Steve shook his head no, Bucky twisted the cap back on the bottle and stuck it inside his jacket. “You ever had one at all then?”

“Well, not officially, no. There’s a girl, from my neighborhood back home, Peggy. She’s real pretty and she’s always been nice to me, you know even when other girls woulda laughed at me. I asked her out once.”

“Oh,” Bucky said. “How’d that go?”

“I don’t know what I was thinking, asking her out, I mean I wanted to, but I had no idea what I was doing. For some reason she said yes. So we went to the movies and held hands; I can’t even tell you what movie we saw.” Steve shook his head, still not truly believing that he’d gone on a date to the movies with Peggy Carter and she’d held his hand.

“You liked that, holding her hand in the movie theater, in the dark?” Bucky asked.

“Yeah, I guess so,” Steve said, unsure why Bucky was asking.

“It was nice, right? Because you knew if she liked you, if you wanted to, you could have walked out of that dark theater still holding Peggy’s hand, right?”

Steve thought for a second before answering. “Yeah, sure, there are always couples coming outta movies holding hands.”

“Right,” Bucky answered. “Because there are some people’s hands you want to hold in the dark. Because it’s comforting, because it feels safe. If that same person, those same hands are the ones you want to hold in the sunshine too, even better. But what if you can’t? What if you can’t even bring yourself to hold those hands in the dark, where it might be safe, because you know you can’t hold them in the sunshine?”

Bucky had started out calm and composed but by the end, his voice was raw and he sounded near tears. Steve didn’t know if he was imagining things or not, but he could have sworn he could feel tension rolling off Bucky in waves.

“Bucky…” Steve stopped; his mouth felt dry and his lips drier. “What are you trying to say, Bucky?”

“This is one of the things I meant, Steve, one of the things my parents keep telling me I’m _wrong_ about, that I don’t know what I want, because I’m not old enough. That I’ll change my mind about. But I don’t think it works that way… it’s not like I _decided_ to be like this.”

Bucky didn’t say anything else, but he turned slowly, facing Steve. He inched out his hand, his fingers finding Steve’s. Arms entwining, Bucky’s fingers, the tips calloused from his guitar playing, slid perfectly in-between Steve’s.   

“It’s… nice,” Bucky said after a few minutes, “holding your hand, Steve.”

Bucky’s voice, still sounding on the verge of tears, triggered Steve’s memory. That night, when they’d ducked out of Natasha’s party, they hadn’t just smoked a joint together. Bucky had kissed him. _They’d kissed_. He and Bucky had kissed and Steve had enjoyed it.

“I’m glad you weren’t avoiding me, Steve,” Bucky’s voice interrupted Steve’s thoughts.

“We kissed,” Steve said, his eyes taking in every detail of Bucky’s face.

“Y-yeah,” Bucky cleared his throat. “Yeah, Steve. I kissed you.” Bucky paused, opened his mouth, closed it then sucked in a huge breath and spoke again, “I like other boys, Steve. _I like you_.”

“Oh…” Steve felt like the air had been knocked from his lungs and with his free hand, he groped in his pocket for his inhaler. He brought it out, shaking it to prepare to use it. He knew he liked Bucky, he had liked kissing him too. But he liked Peggy too, hadn’t kissed her, but had wanted to, so what did that say about him? What was he supposed to say to Bucky? Clenching the inhaler in his fist, Steve drew in the deepest breath he could and told the truth. “I like you too, Bucky.”


	4. He could use a good friend

After his art classes and Psychology, English was Steve’s favorite class. Normally he loved discussing the novels they were assigned to read or listening to the teacher, Mrs. Chavez, read poetry aloud. Not only was her voice melodic and strong, but she seemed as passionate about the subject she taught as she wanted her students to be, something that wasn’t true of many teachers.

But today, even after a weekend out of the infirmary, he found it hard to stay awake in class. Steve knew this was probably due to spending the last two nights out in the courtyard with Bucky. It seemed an unspoken agreement that they would meet there after everyone else was asleep. Knowing that Bucky was most likely in the courtyard smoking made it hard for Steve to sleep so he’d started bundling up every night after Sam was asleep to find Bucky. Sometimes they talked, mostly they just sat, watching their breath in the cold night air while held hands.

Steve propped his head on his hand, fighting to stay awake. As hard as he concentrated, he still felt his head lolling to the side and he’d jerk upright, trying not very subtly to catch himself. Class had only been in session for around ten minutes, and Steve was wondering how he’d make it through the full hour, when the classroom door opened.

Mrs. Chavez stopped, mid-stride, as she walked in front of the blackboard. “Come in, don’t just stand there in the hallway,” she called to the person who had opened the door, waving them inside.

Steve’s eyes grew wide as he saw Bucky walk into the classroom.

“Thank you for finally joining up, Mr. Barnes,” Mrs. Chavez said. “If you’ll take a seat, I’d like to continue with today’s lesson.”

Bucky nodded at Mrs. Chavez. “Thank you ma’am,” he said as he stepped towards the back of the room, sliding into the empty seat behind Steve.

Waiting until Mrs. Chavez had resumed reading, Steve turned to Bucky and hissed, “You’re in this class?” He’d really thought Bucky had been joking about never attending classes and had just figured they didn’t share any classes.

Bucky nodded, grinning. “Yeah, I figured now might be a good time to start showing up, you know, get a few weeks of class in before we have winter break and then mid-terms,” he whispered back.

Steve nodded, feeling much more awake now. Looking towards the front of the class, he tried to focus on the words Mrs. Chavez was saying, but he could feel Bucky’s eyes on him. He turned slowly to find Bucky starting at him. “Pay attention,” he whispered. He wasn’t sure, his experience being limited, but he thought he could detect the smell of pot smoke on Bucky’s clothing.

“Are you sure you don’t want to duck out of here early?” Bucky asked him.

"No, I like English class."

"No? Not even just a few minutes early?" Bucky asked, even though they still had forty-five minutes of class left.

"No." Steve shook his head, trying unsuccessfully to keep his eyes on Mrs. Chavez.

Bucky pouted exaggeratedly. "Please?"

"No.” Steve fought back a smile at the puppy dog eyes Bucky was giving him. “We’ll miss—"

"Oh, don't start with that! I bet you haven't missed a single class all year. One now isn't going to hurt you."

"I haven’t missed a single class, unlike you who hasn’t bothered to show up for a single class!"

Bucky opened his mouth to say something.

"And don't even try to deny it," Steve said, smirking.

Bucky leaned back in his chair and hummed in frustration. “Fine, Steve. I get it, you don’t want to get in trouble. Be a stickler for the rules, but after class, we’ll just have to go break a few, to even things out.”

Steve sighed with mock exasperation, but he smiled at Bucky, answering him before turning his attention to Mrs. Chavez again. “I like English class, Bucky. I’m staying because this is interesting, not because I don’t want to get in trouble. I think I’ve already proved I don’t have a problem with breaking rules.”

* * * *

Less than an hour later they were back in Bucky’s room. Steve dumped his backpack on the floor and sat down on the bed. Bucky joined him, lying crosswise on the mattress, his heavy boots dangling off the edge.

Without asking Steve if he minded, Bucky pulled a joint from his nightstand drawer, lighting it and taking a toke before passing it to Steve. “I won’t open the window this time,” Bucky said, his fingers ghosting down Steve’s arm, leaving goose bumps in their wake.

"We could just hang out you know," Steve coughed, tears forming at the corners of his eyes as he sat on Bucky’s bed and leaned against the wall. "Wow, I guess this is different from the one we smoked the other day..." He passed Bucky the joint and coughed again.

At first Bucky looked slightly concerned at Steve’s cough but then he smirked at him. "Yeah. It’s from a different guy."  He took a drag then blew a few smoke rings, while Steve watched in awe.

"How'd you end up here, Bucky?" Steve asked, taking the joint out of Bucky’s fingertips.

 "Well, Steve, in case you missed it, this is my room,” Bucky teased, drawing in a lungful of smoke before passing the joint back to Steve.

"Alright smartass, you know that’s not what I meant!  How did you end up going to Lakewood? I know you’re talented, I’ve heard you play.” Steve felt his cheeks heat up at the memory of the first time he had seen Bucky. “But today is the first time I saw you in class all year and the impression I get is that seems to be a normal thing for you.”

Bucky shrugged. “My dad has connections. He’s on the school board and he donates a ton of money to the school every year. My mom went here when she was a kid, so I’m like a legacy I guess. They wouldn’t kick me out even if they wanted to.”

“Well, that explains a lot,” Steve said. “You don’t like it here?”

“Nah, it’s alright. I don’t mind the music classes so much, but it’s the other stuff that’s a real drag. It’s better this year than before though,” Bucky said, looking at Steve pointedly.

Steve blushed under Bucky’s intense gaze, remembering what had happened the last time they had been here, in Bucky’s room, on his bed together.

"So, you gonna smoke that or just watch it burn?" Bucky asked, still watching Steve intently.

 Steve looked to his hand and the lit joint, then lifted it to his mouth and took another tentative drag, causing the same coughing-fit reaction as before.

 "Here," Bucky said, leaning into Sam's personal space and plucking the joint from Steve’s fingers. He took a long drag and everything around them melted away as Steve suddenly became very aware of nothing but Bucky’s lips around the tightly rolled joint.

 "You gotta open your mouth," Bucky whispered, leaning in closer so that his lips almost touched Steve’s. The movement of his lips pushed a soft puff of air across Steve's, and he obeyed without thinking, parting his lips as Bucky exhaled the smoke into his open mouth.

 The smoke was much gentler, moistened already by Bucky's lungs and mouth.  Steve’s brain nearly short-circuited at the thought that he was literally breathing air that had been inside Bucky. He exhaled with a soft sigh and closed his eyes. It didn’t occur to him that they were close enough to kiss until he felt, rather than saw, Bucky pull back. Steve’s entire body tingled at the thought of kissing Bucky again. Excitement coursed through his veins at the possibility.

Forcing his eyes open and still feeling somewhat dazed from lack of oxygen and the moment of Bucky's lips being so close to his, it took a moment for Steve to think of something to say. Steve couldn’t stop watching Bucky’s mouth. It was so very distracting and always seemed to make his thoughts go off track. "I'm pretty good at English and math and all that, so if you ever need any help—”

“You want to play a game, Steve?” Bucky asked, cutting him off midsentence. Setting the joint in the ashtray on his nightstand, Bucky scooted closer to Steve again.

“A game? What kind of a game?”

“Well, Steve,” Bucky said, smiling lazily, “it’s like a game of chicken, only you see how close you can get without kissing someone.” Without warning Bucky started to lean closer to Steve. Steve desperately wanted to close his eyes, wanted to feel Bucky’s lips on his. He fought to control his breathing, to stay calm.

Bucky’s eyes were as wide as Steve’s were. Steve could feel Bucky’s warm breath on his face, the scent smoky and familiar. Bucky’s lips curved slowly, the corners of his mouth curling up in a cat-like smirk. His approach was so slow that to Steve it was torturous. Just when their lips were close enough to nearly brush together, Bucky pulled away, lazily grinning. He leaned back on his elbows, grabbed the still-burning joint from the green glass ashtray and brought it to his lips, drawing in and then expelling a lungful of smoke.

Steve scrambled to his feet, grabbed his backpack, thankful for something to hold strategically over the obvious erection he was left with. “Sorry Bucky, I... I gotta get to class,” he lied, nearly tripping over Bucky’s legs hanging off the bed as he rushed into the hallway. Steve didn’t have a class to go to, even if he had he wouldn’t be going anyway. His only thought now was how long it would take him to get back to his room. Once he was there, he wanted nothing more than to jerk off to the thought of Bucky’s lips, knowing he would probably come in about ten seconds.

* * * *

Later, feeling calmer, Steve sat in his room going over his English homework. He was nearly done when Sam and Natasha walked in. “Hey guys,” Steve said, looking up from his notebook. Both of his friends were sweaty and smiling, fresh from one of their dance classes.

“What’s up, Steve? I heard James actually showed up in Mrs. Chavez’s class earlier,” Natasha said, raising an eyebrow slightly.

Steve nodded, turning in his seat. “He did. I didn’t even know he was in that class,” he said smiling at the memory of Bucky deciding to show up in class after all those weeks of not attending.

“I also heard you two disappeared together after class,” Natasha said, her tone even and almost disinterested sounding. She sat on the edge of Steve’s bed, while Sam stood in the middle of the room.

Sam tipped his head at Steve. “What's going on between you and Bucky,” Sam asked.

“What do you mean? N-nothing,” Steve stammered, feeling his face grow hot.

“Nothing besides the fact you got a pants busting crush on him?” Sam asked with a laugh.

Steve and Natasha both shot him a dirty look.

“I'm just sayin,” Sam said, shrugging his shoulders. “I’m gonna hit the shower,” he said before grabbing clean clothing and heading into the bathroom.

When Natasha and Steve were alone, she made to leave. “I should go back to my room and clean up too,” she said, laying a hand on Steve’s shoulder.

“Hey, Natasha,” Steve said, “you’ve known Bucky a long time, right?”

Natasha stopped, her hand on the doorknob. “Yeah, I have. Why do you ask, Steve?”

“I like him a lot, Natasha. I like spending time with him.”

“That’s good Steve, he could use a good friend, a friend like you,” she smiled, coming back to sit on Steve’s bed. “So what is it you want to know?”

Steve frowned, he wasn’t sure what he even wanted to ask Natasha. “So… so you know about him? I mean, do you know he—”

A tiny smile flicked across Natasha’s face. “I know he’s gay, Steve.”

Steve nodded, Natasha’s words leaving a funny taste in his mouth. “Yeah, we talked about it, I mean he told me.”

“I figured you’d been spending time with him,” she said, avoiding the obvious question of what it meant to Steve, knowing that Bucky was gay.

“I like him, Natasha,” Steve said bluntly.

“You already told me that Steve.”

“No, you don’t get it. I _like_ him,” Steve said again. “I like him and I liked it when he kissed me but every time he… he… every time he wants to spend time with me he’s either drunk or high, or both. I feel like… like maybe I’m not good enough for him or something.”

Natasha sighed. “It’s not easy for him, Steve. It’s never been easy. He does a good job of pretending, of hiding it, but that’s not an easy thing either. Talk to him about it. You are good enough. You’re _good_ for him, Steve.”

* * * *

Natasha’s words were never very far from Steve’s mind and they weren’t the entire reason he bundled up later that night to walk outside, but they were a big part of it. He wasn’t even sure Bucky would be out tonight. He seemed not to sleep much and had been outside every night since Steve had first seen him sitting on the courtyard bench in the dark. But maybe after this afternoon he would already be passed out in his bed.

Surprisingly, or maybe entirely unsurprisingly, Bucky was sitting in his usual spot, perched on the top of the bench. He wasn’t smoking, he just sat there, hunched over, his hands shoved in the pockets of his jacket.

“Hey, Steve,” Bucky said, his voice clear in the quiet night air.

“Hey,” Steve answered.

“You’re so predictable, Steve,” Bucky said. “If I can count on one thing these days, it’s Steve Rogers, always showing up when I need him.”

“You’re one to talk, Bucky,” Steve said, chuckling as he sat on the bench.

“Nah,” Bucky said as he slid down to sit next to Steve, “that’s different. I’m just hanging out. I’ve been coming out here almost every night since my first week here. And I’ve always been alone.” He pulled his hands from his pockets and rested them on his thighs, his hands tapping rhythms onto his knees.

“And now I’m here,” Steve said.

“Now you’re here, Steve. It’s nice to not be alone.”

Steve reached out and placed his hands over Bucky’s, stopping his drumming. He let his hand rest there a moment, feeling how chilly Bucky was and then scooped Bucky’s hand into his.

Bucky squeezed Steve’s hand, his cold skin gradually warming up in Steve’s grasp.

After a moment, Steve worked up enough nerve to ask Bucky what he’d been wondering. “Why do you do it, Bucky?”

“Do what?”

Steve sighed, he didn’t want to ask, didn’t want to open this can of worms, but he needed to know. “Why do you always have to be high or drunk to hang out with me?”

“That's not true,” Bucky protested. “I’m not drunk or high right now.” He smiled sweetly at Steve, a tired smile, but he appeared to be anything _but_ tired.

Steve sighed again, feeling frustrated. “Why don't you ever want to kiss me when you're sober?”

“I do, Steve, believe me, I do.”

“So, then why don’t you?” Steve asked, feeling confused.

“The problem is,” Bucky said as he leaned closer to Steve, “if I kissed you, I don’t think I’d be able to stop.”

“And what's wrong with that,” Steve said challengingly.

“That depends who you ask,” Bucky said. Bitterness tainted his words and he wrenched his hand away from Steve’s. “It's a defense mechanism, Steve. Everyone has one. Look at Natasha, the way she puts on her makeup like she’s painting graffiti, look at the way Sam's always cracking jokes. And you, always getting into fights.”

“That's not the same thing.”

“Isn't it?” Bucky asked. “Isn’t it, Steve?”

“You don't have to hide with me Bucky, you told me you liked me, I told you I liked you back. Why can't that be enough?”

“It is enough, Steve, enough for me. But it doesn't mean shit to the rest of the world.”

“Screw the rest of the world, Bucky. Do you think I care about what anyone else thinks?”

“Maybe you don't Steve, but it matters.”

“No, it doesn’t—”

“Maybe that’s not the right word, but you know damn well what people say about guys like me. What my own parents say.”

Bucky’s words were nearly enough to break Steve’s heart. He turned to Bucky, looking at his sad expression, the tight set of his mouth, reached for Bucky’s hand again and then he did the only thing he could think of.

Leaning close, he tipped his head up and pressed his lips to Bucky’s. Bucky’s face was chilled, his lips like ice, and for a split second Steve was afraid he’d made a horrible mistake. He brought his free hand up to stroke the back of Bucky’s neck, his fingers tangling in the ends of Bucky’s hair. Bucky let out a soft whimper and he kissed Steve back, his lips moving over Steve’s. His hand, the one that wasn’t holding Steve’s, coming up to press into Steve’s back and pull him closer. Steve could feel the warmth from his mouth bleed into Bucky’s as they kissed, lips parting and fingers grasping.

"What the hell are we doing?" Bucky whispered, pulling back after a moment.

Steve smiled and brought his hand forward to cup Bucky’s cheek. He kissed Bucky quickly. "We're making out," Steve said with a small smile.

Bucky shrugged, smiled a wide smile that curled the corners of his mouth and laughed for a moment, one of the most beautiful sounds Steve had ever heard.

Steve’s laughter joined Bucky’s, echoing in the empty courtyard. The dark fall night surrounded them and they were hidden in the shadows, and yet, somehow they couldn’t have been more exposed.

Their laughter died down and Bucky looked at Steve, both of them grinning like idiots. Still smiling, Steve grabbed the front of Bucky’s jacket and pulled him closer. He brought his lips to Bucky’s again and Bucky kissed him back, not fighting for control, just taking things slowly.  He felt Bucky’s tongue against the curve of his lips and then they were kissing again.

Steve’s hands were still clutching Bucky’s jacket so Bucky brought his hands up to cradle the back of Steve’s neck, kissing him impossibly harder, leaving them both breathless.

Steve had no idea how much time passed before Bucky pulled away again. He rested his forehead against Steve’s, both of them trying to catch their breaths.

“Steve, you’re freezing,” Bucky said, dropping his hands to cover both of Steve’s. “Why didn’t you tell me you were so cold?”

“I don’t feel cold,” Steve told him truthfully. “Kissing you is keeping me warm.” He tilted his head, intending to kiss Bucky again.

“Steve, you’re a fucking idiot,” Bucky said, barely holding back a laugh.

“Yeah, but you like me.”

Bucky stood, dragging Steve up by his arms. “True, but I haven’t decided yet whether it’s despite the fact or because of it,” he said.

Steve laughed then, shaking his head at Bucky and himself.

“C’mon, Steve, let’s get you inside, the last thing I want is you getting sick all over again,” Bucky said, leading Steve towards the entrance to the dorms.

Once inside, the warm air made Steve realize just how cold it had been outside in the courtyard. He could see the tip of his nose turning pink and he rubbed his hands together, trying to warm them up. “I guess I should probably head back to my room,” he told Bucky. He knew it was late and he should sleep, but he was reluctant to say goodnight.

Bucky looked at Steve, his eyes bright from the cold and the kissing. It wasn’t the first time and it probably wouldn’t be the last time Steve wished he could tell what Bucky was thinking.

“You don’t have to,” Bucky finally said.

“Don’t have to go back to my room? What are we going to do now, make out in the hallway?”

Bucky smirked. “Well it is warmer than outside,” he teased. “Tempting as that is I was gonna ask if you wanted to come back to my room.”

Steve thought about it, was still thinking about it when Bucky spoke again.

“I just don’t want to be alone tonight.”

Steve knew then he wouldn’t say no. Couldn’t say no. “Yeah, Bucky. I’ll come to your room. You don’t have to be alone. I’ll stay with you.”

* * * *

 

By the time they reached Bucky’s room, Steve had warmed up. They both shed their coats and Steve stood in the room awkwardly, wondering what they were going to do.

Bucky sat down on the bed and began unlacing his boots. Steve watched as Bucky’s nimble fingers made quick work of the long, black laces. When Bucky had undone the laces on both boots, he pulled them off, grunting with the effort. The boots came off to reveal thick wool socks.

Bucky caught Steve watching, looking at his socks and blushed. “They’re my Christmas present every year from my grandmother. She’s very concerned about keeping my feet warm.”

Steve nodded. “Sounds like something a grandmother would worry about.”

“Your grandmother never gives you socks?” Bucky asked.

“No,” Steve shook his head, “I never knew either of my grandmothers. My mom is all the family I have.”

Clearly not wanting to continue on the subject of family, Bucky stretched out on the bed. He closed his eyes for a brief second, opening them to squint at Steve. “Well, you gonna take off your shoes and lie down with me or what?”

“Oh, what? Yeah. Okay, sure,” Steve said as he toed off his sneakers leaving them heaped together where they came off. Bucky’s boots sat next to the bed, neatly lined up. They were the only orderly thing in his messy room.

Steve flipped the light switch off, throwing the room into almost total darkness, then came and sat on the edge of the bed, still unsure what to do.

“C’mon, lay with me,” Bucky asked, rolling towards the wall.

Steve lay down, squirming onto his side. Bucky faced the wall, his back to Steve.

“Well, budge up,” Bucky said, trying to pull the blanket over them.

“Huh, what?” Steve was tired and a little confused.

Bucky reached his arm back and grabbed Steve’s hip, demonstrating what he meant. “Scoot closer.”

It hit Steve then what Bucky wanted. He moved closer, lining up his body with Bucky’s. It didn’t matter that Bucky was a few inches taller than him, Steve understood then that it was comforting to Bucky. He’d said he didn’t want to be alone, so Steve draped his arm over Bucky’s side, pressing his chest against Bucky’s back and resting his cheek against Bucky’s shoulder.

Bucky sighed contentedly and Steve smiled against the soft cotton of Bucky’s shirt. It didn’t take long for Steve to feel Bucky relax and for his breathing to even out. He was keeping Bucky from being alone, that was true, but Steve wasn’t alone either. And even though he normally shared a room with Sam, sharing a bed with Bucky was a different type of not alone. Still smiling in darkness, Steve fell asleep too.


	5. Come over here and prove it, punk

Steve woke up, disoriented and stiff from lying in the same position too long. He opened his eyes hesitantly, fearing that he'd had another relapse and had ended up in the infirmary again. But instead of the bland white walls and curtained partitions, Steve found himself staring into Bucky's blue-gray eyes.

"Thank you," Bucky whispered.

"For what?" Steve asked, his voice crackly with sleep.

"For staying, for trying to understand. For being you."

"You're welcome. But you don't have to thank me, I didn't do anything special."

Bucky smiled ruefully at Steve and gave a small shake of his head. "You really have no idea," he said so quietly that Steve barely heard him, even as close as they were.

Steve watched Bucky, taking in his sleep-mussed hair, his cheeks, pale under the slight tan he had. His eyes were only half-open, but they were clear and bright.

“What time is it?” Steve asked quietly.

“It's a little after seven. I hope you don't have any early classes.” Bucky brushed the hair out of Steve’s eyes, trailing his hand down the side of Steve’s face.

Thankfully Steve didn't. “No, not today, I've got my art history class, but that’s not until nine thirty.”

“Good, then you can stay a little longer,” Bucky said, his mouth turning up into a small, lopsided smile.

Steve was suddenly aware of how close they were. "I can stay," he said, swallowing abruptly.

“If I kiss you, are you gonna run out again? Like last time I tried to kiss you here in my room?” Bucky asked, licking his lip.

“Ah, hey, that wasn't a kiss, that was _teasing_ ,” Steve said, blushing at the memory of just how teasing it was.

Bucky wrapped his arms around Steve's skinny frame, pulling him close. His arms were warm and strong, and his fingers ran deftly up and down Steve's spine.

"I won't tease you this time," he said softly before he dipped his head down. He brought his lips against Steve's and kissed him softly, a sweet, gentle kiss, exploring Steve’s lips.

Bucky’s hands clenched Steve’s shirt and Steve melted into him. He’d been waiting to kiss Bucky again since they last time and he wasn’t disappointed. He embraced the moment and deepened the kiss, pressing his lips to Bucky’s with a ferocious intensity. His hands roamed over Bucky's back, skimming against the soft strands of hair that lay against his neck. Steve’s lips moved of their own accord, tongue begging for access against Bucky's lower lip.

Bucky responded eagerly, opening his mouth and rolling his tongue against Steve's. Bucky's mouth was warm and his body was warmer. He still smelled of smoke and leather and it made Steve feel a little dangerous. Steve licked into Bucky’s mouth hungrily, following his instincts. This was all new to him, not just kissing another boy, but also the kissing in general.

Bucky laughed into Steve's mouth when his head came into contact with the wall next to bed. Steve tried to pull away, but Bucky rolled, pushing off the wall and moving on top of Steve Bucky's thigh was wedged between Steve's, but there was no force behind it. He held himself as if he were trying to prevent Steve from being crushed.

Steve didn’t care; in that moment, he wanted to be crushed by Bucky. Well, not crushed, but he wanted to feel Bucky’s weight and warmth on top of him. He wrapped his arms around Bucky's neck and dragged Bucky’s body solidly on top of him.

Bucky eased away, pressing a soft, small kiss to Steve's lips before pulling his face back. "Steve," he said, sounding nervous and breathless and hopeful all at once, "you're...this is okay with you? This is what you want?"

In answer, Steve threaded his fingers through Bucky’s tangled hair and brought him back down into a kiss. Steve tipped his head to gain access to Bucky's mouth, and they met in a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss, a clash of teeth and tongues. Bucky pulled back slightly, laughing again.

Steve narrowed his eyes and tried to glare at Bucky, but it proved impossible. Bucky’s laugh was contagious and Steve found himself laughing too. “Don’t laugh! You weren’t complaining about my kisses a minute ago.”

Bucky smirked at Steve. “You think you’re a better kisser than me? You really think you’re better than me? Come over here and prove it, punk,” he said, his tone light, teasing with his words while he teased with his hands, running his fingers down Steve’s sides.

Steve's laugh vibrated through them both. "You’d better show you how it's done, I guess," he said, and then talking was impossible.

Their lips met and Bucky’s hands on Steve’s face guided him through. Every kiss was better than the last and Steve felt that he would have been content to stay right here, in Bucky’s room making out all day. He wasn't sure he was even breathing until they parted and he inhaled, smiling like an idiot.

They watched each other for a moment, both of them grinning when Bucky rolled his hips down against him. Steve gasped and arched his back into Bucky's movements, the heat in his belly and the strain against his fly the only sensations he could acknowledge.

"Bucky," Steve breathed.

Bucky rolled his hips again. "Steve," he whispered, bending to slot his lips against Steve’s again, briefly before pulling back to place his lips against Steve’s neck. Steve slid his hands down Bucky’s back and pulled his hips forward. Their erections grazed each other through denim of their jeans and Steve shuddered at the contact.

Bucky's lips found his again and in no time they were a seemingly endless tangle of limbs and tongues, sighing each other's names with each roll of Bucky’s hips and arch of Steve’s back.

The room was mostly silent, bathed in the soft golden light of the morning sunshine.  They moved together, kissing and sighing, Steve’s gasps and moans encouraging Bucky to kiss a different spot or move in different ways. Steve didn’t know what time it was, he didn’t know how quickly time was passing and he didn’t even care if he missed his class. They didn’t pull apart until the phone on the wall began to ring.

Steve started, the jangling ring of the phone piercing the cocoon of kisses and quiet, touches and togetherness that they were wrapped in.

“I should probably answer that,” Bucky said, reluctantly pushing himself away from Steve, off the bed.

Steve didn’t move, didn’t want to move, still feeling the warmth of Bucky’s body on his, the feel of Bucky’s hands. Bucky flashed Steve an apologetic grin and moved towards the phone, snatching it off the hook just as it rang for the fourth time.

“Hello?” Bucky answered, his voice steady, giving the person on the other end of the line no clue that he’d just been making out. Bucky’s back was to Steve and he could see Bucky wrapping the phone cord around his fingers.

Steve wondered who Bucky was talking to, but after a moment, even only hearing Bucky’s end of the conversation, he started to think he knew who it might be.

“No, he’s here with me. Yes, he’s fine. He was here all night.” There was a pause and Bucky turned around, rolling his eyes at Steve. “Sorry. I know. Yeah, alright. You can stop freaking out now. Bye.”

Hanging up the phone and moving away from the wall, Bucky chuckled, shaking his head. “That was Nat, apparently Sam woke up this morning and you weren’t in your bed, so he panicked.”

Covering his face with his hands, Steve asked through his fingers, “And she knew I’d be here?”

Bucky shrugged, an easy smile curving over his lips. “It’s hard to hide anything from Nat.”

Steve knew that was the truth; Natasha seemed to be the most observant person he’d ever met, always reading people and figuring out what they wanted before they even knew it themselves.

“Now, where were we?” Bucky whispered, climbing back into bed with Steve. He fit easily on top of Steve, their bodies molding together again, as if they’d never moved. 

Pulling Bucky in by his shoulders, Steve answered in a whisper of his own, “Right here.” His lips found Bucky’s and he kissed him, excitement coursing through him.

They kissed softly, unhurried, Steve relishing the feel of Bucky’s chest rising and falling against his own, their bodies pressed tight together. They stayed that way, Steve’s hands moving over Bucky’s back, Bucky’s fingers caressing Steve’s face until Steve’s stomach grumbled loudly. Bucky ended the kiss, dissolving into laughter. “Was that your stomach or is there a lion under my bed? How can someone so little make such a loud sound?”

Steve blushed, letting his head flop back against the pillow. “I guess I’m hungry,” he admitted. “I just didn’t want to say anything and interrupt the kissing.” He laughed too then. “I guess that sounds kind of stupid, doesn’t it?”

“Nah,” Bucky said, leaning in to plant a tiny kiss on the corner of Steve’s mouth. “We can kiss later, but if you want to eat before you have your class, we’d better hit the dining hall. Because I’m sure Steve Rogers doesn’t want to be late for class,” he teased.

Bucky made to push himself off Steve, but Steve's hand on his wrist stopped him. “What is it?”

Steve pulled Bucky in for one last kiss, just briefly bringing their lips together. “You’re right, I don’t want to be late. I don’t want to stop kissing you, but I also don’t want to sit through class with my stomach interrupting the teacher.”

Bucky’s shoulders shook with laughter as he climbed off Steve and sat on the edge of the bed. He raked his fingers through his hair, straightening it out. He reached for his boots, bending down to pull them closer.

Steve still hadn’t moved, partly because he was enjoying watching Bucky and partly because he was still a little too turned on from making out and grinding on Bucky.

“You gonna get up or what, Steve?” Bucky asked, raising an eyebrow at Steve while he shoved his foot inside his boot.

“Sure, I’m getting up,” Steve said. After a moment, he sat up in the bed, keeping the covers bunched in his lap. Taking a deep breath, he tried to compose himself.

Bucky was still lacing his boots, one was completely open and the other was laced halfway up. He stood, the ends of his laces flopping against the floor. “Here,” he said, retrieving Steve’s shoes from the middle of the room.

Grateful, Steve accepted the shoes and swung his legs over the edge of the bed so he could put them on. Bucky sat next to him and resumed lacing his boots. When Steve had finished putting on his sneakers he focused on Bucky’s long fingers, watching as Bucky tightened and tied his bootlaces.

When Bucky finished he looked at Steve, frowning slightly. “You know everyone’s gonna notice you’re wearing the same clothes as yesterday,” he said.

Steve looked down, plucking at his red and white striped sweater; it was definitely something that stood out and people would remember seeing him wear it two days in a row. Bucky’s entire wardrobe seemed to consist of ripped jeans and faded black t-shirts, so he could get away with not changing.

“Here, I have an idea,” Bucky said. He stood and went to his closet, yanking a t-shirt off its hanger and tossing it to Steve.

“What am I supposed to do with this?” Steve asked.

“Wear it, duh,” Bucky said with a smirk.

* * * *

Wearing Bucky’s shirt had seemed like a good idea when Bucky had offered, but walking into the dining hall wearing it left Steve feeling like everyone was staring at him.

“Everyone knows this is your shirt,” Steve hissed to Bucky, who was a few steps ahead of him.

Bucky stopped in his tracks, waiting for Steve to catch up with him. “Nah, no one can tell,” he said, clapping his hand on Steve’s shoulder. “C’mon, let’s get something to eat.”

There wasn’t a line so they could choose their food quickly. The hot breakfast options were a watery looking oatmeal, rubbery scrambled eggs, and toast that was now cold. They both opted for cold cereal instead. Steve chose a bowl of bran flakes with raisins, carefully holding his tray while he waited for Bucky to decide. He scanned the dining hall, spotting Sam and Natasha a few tables away.

When they approached the table, Steve could tell Sam was annoyed. He sat down across from Sam. “Hey guys,” he greeted them.

“You maybe even think about letting me know where you were?” Sam asked before they had even sat down.

“Well, good morning to you too,” Bucky said, sliding into a seat opposite Natasha.

“Yeah, morning,” Sam said, returning his attention to Steve. “I was worried you’d gotten sick again and collapsed someplace!”

Natasha sighed, placing her hand on Sam’s arm. “As soon as he called me I had a pretty good idea of where you were, Steve.” She glared at Bucky, frowning slightly. “It was pretty thoughtless of both of you, James,” she said quietly.

“Sorry, Nat,” Bucky apologized. “It wasn’t planned. I asked Steve to stay with me. It was already late then and I didn’t think of what would happen if Sam noticed he was gone. Sorry, Sam.”

Sam was silent, arms crossed over his chest. “Yeah, yeah. Just don’t do that to me again, alright,” he said, sounding like he still wasn’t ready to forgive Steve. He eyed Steve quizzically, noticing his shirt. “I didn’t peg you for a fan,” he said, pointing to Steve’s shirt.

“What? Huh?” Steve looked down at his shirt, puzzled, trying to figure out what band shirt he was wearing from the faded, upside down logo.

“Nice shirt, Steve,” Natasha said, “You give that to him, James?”

Bucky smiled, proud of himself. “It looks good on him too, doesn’t it?”

“It’s not a bad look for you, Steve,” Natasha told him. “It’s a little big though.”

“I’m guessing you didn’t look at it before you put it on either,” Sam added.

Steve felt himself blushing and he ducked his head. Bucky’s t-shirt wasn’t his normal style; he didn’t recognize the band logo on the front, but the cotton was soft and worn and smelled like Bucky.

“You guys eating, or what?” Sam asked, changing the topic. His tray was empty and he was clearly waiting for Natasha to finish. “We’ve got to get to Trigonometry,” he reminded Natasha.

Natasha picked up a piece of toast from her plate and nibbled at it. She set it down, brushing the crumbs from her fingertips. “I’m done,” she said to Sam. Turning to Steve and Bucky, she joked, “Can I trust you two will behave yourselves if we leave you alone?”

Bucky faked a look of indignation. “Nat, you wound me! I’m always on my best behavior.”

“Yeah, sure you are. That’s what I’m worried about.” She smiled at Steve as she stood and picked up her tray.

Sam stood too, taking his tray and then Natasha’s from her, stacking them together. “Catch you guys later,” he said, holding the trays in one hand and drawing his other arm around Natasha as they walked away.

When they were alone, Steve peered into Bucky’s cereal bowl. “Of course you’d pick that kind,” he said, pointing a finger at the colorful cereal Bucky had chosen.

“Hey, nothing wrong with it, at least it’s not boring like your breakfast,” Bucky said, crunching loudly on a spoonful of cereal.

“It’s not boring, it’s healthy!” Steve said, shoving Bucky playfully.

“Oh, right, I forgot you were concerned about your health. You know, it was hard to tell what with the way you keep showing up outside, in the middle of the night when it’s freezing cold.”

Bucky was teasing, but his words rang true. Steve knew better, especially after his recent bout of pneumonia. Bucky was the reason though; if he had never run into him in the courtyard, Steve never would have kept going out there.

Steve took a bite of cereal, using the time to think. “Are you concerned about my health, Bucky?”

“Yeah, well… you know I ain’t saying I am, but I like having you around Steve. I’d like to keep it that way.” Bucky shoved a huge spoonful of cereal into his mouth, cheeks puffed, chewing exaggeratedly, looking down at the bowl in front of him.

Steve smiled. “I’ll make you a deal,” he offered. “You stop hanging around outside at night and I’ll stop going out too.”

Bucky swallowed loudly, looking up from his bowl of cereal. “You saying you don’t want to hang out with me anymore?”

“Nah, I’m saying we should hang out somewhere a little warmer for now.” He smiled, thinking of how warm Bucky’s room had seemed after the chilly courtyard. “And next time I’ll let Sam know where I am so he doesn’t freak out when he wakes up and my bed is empty,” Steve said quietly.

Bucky bit the corner of his lip, then grinned back at Steve. “Next time, huh? What makes you think there’s going to be a next time?” he asked, lowering his voice even more so that no one around them could hear the conversation.

“Are you trying to say you don’t want me to spend the night in your room again?”

“Steve, you punk, that’s the exact opposite of what I’m trying to say.”

“Good, because you aren’t getting rid of me that easily,” Steve told him.

* * * *

Steve made it to his art history class with only a few minutes to spare. But he was no longer hungry and he was happy. Bucky walked with him to the art wing, stopping just outside the classroom door.

“I’ll see you later, I guess,” Steve said. He wished he could give Bucky a hug, or maybe a kiss but he knew it wasn’t a good idea. Not in the hallway with other kids filing past them.

“How long does this class last?” Bucky asked, glancing at the clock above the double doors at the end of the hallway.

“It’s an hour and fifteen minutes, usually,” Steve answered. “Why do you want to know?”

Bucky leaned a shoulder against the wall, glancing down at his nails. “So, nine thirty, that means you’ll be done around ten forty-five.”

“Yeah, probably. Why?” Steve asked again.

“Because then I know what time to meet you when your class is over,” Bucky told him as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“Don’t you have any classes to go to?”

Bucky sniffed, rubbing the back of his hand under his nose. “You concerned about my academic performance, Steve?”

“No!” Steve answered too quickly. “Well, I mean, yeah, maybe. I thought you were going to start attending your classes now. Or does that only mean the ones I’m in with you?”

“Fine, Steve,” Bucky sighed. “If you must know, I _do_ have a class this morning. American History, and it starts at ten and it lets out at eleven.”

“And you’re going to go _and_ stay for the whole class, right?” Steve asked, trying to sound stern.

“What’re you gonna do it I don’t? Drag me to class and sit on me to make sure I stay there?” Bucky said, breaking into laughter.

“Don’t give me any ideas, Bucky,” Steve warned him. “I’ll go to my class, you go to yours and then I’ll meet you when _your_ class is done, alright? What room is it in?”

“Jeez, fine. It’s in room three-oh-four.” Bucky shook his head. “You just don’t give up, do you?”

“I’ll see you _after_ your class,” Steve said, looking back over his shoulder as he walked into the art history classroom.

* * * *

As promised, Steve was waiting outside room three-oh-four at eleven o’clock when Bucky’s class ended. He stood with his back against the wall, across the hall from the classroom. When the class let out and the students exited the room, Steve easily picked Bucky out of the crowd. He watched as Bucky’s eyes scanned the hallway, lighting up when he saw Steve.

“Told you I’d be here,” Steve said, when Bucky joined him on the other side of the hall.

“I knew you would be, didn’t I tell you that the other day, that I can always count on you to show up when I need you.”

“Yeah, I guess you did say that,” Steve said, smiling up at Bucky. “So, when’s your next class?”

“Awww, jeez. You’re a pain,” Bucky grumbled. “It’s after lunch, I have my music theory class.” He looked at Steve and sighed. “And then after that I have a piano technique class.”

“Great, and you’ll go to ‘em all. But first, come back to my room with me so I can change.”

* * * *

Back in Steve’s room, he stepped into the bathroom and pulled on a clean pair of jeans and one of his own sweatshirts. When he came back out, Sam had joined Bucky in the room. Sam still looked annoyed, so Steve didn’t say anything, not wanting to press his luck.

“Thanks for letting me borrow it,” he said, handing Bucky’s t-shirt back to him.

“You don’t wanna keep it?” Bucky asked.

“Well, I’m not really a, err, Pink Floyd fan,” Steve admitted, finally properly reading the logo on the t-shirt. Although the idea of keeping the shirt _was_ tempting, it still smelled like Bucky even after Steve had worn it for the past few hours.

“What!?” Bucky sounded shocked. “You’re joking, right?”

“Well, I dunno, I can’t say I ever really listened to them.”

“Steve, this is a tragedy. We have to fix this immediately,” Bucky informed him.

“Not immediately, Bucky. I’m starving, can we have lunch first?”

“Alright, sure, but _after_ lunch.”

“No, after lunch we both have classes to go to, remember?”

“Ok, enough,” Sam piped up. He looked up from the book he was reading, glancing from Steve, to Bucky and then back to Steve. “Enough flirting, will you two just get out of here and let me read in peace?”

“Sorry, Sam,” Bucky said, “it’s just, can you imagine that Steve hasn’t listened to Pink Floyd?”

“Yeah, like you said, _a tragedy_.” Sam rolled his eyes.

Steve looked at Bucky and decided to take the risk of being forward. “Hey, Sam. I’m sorry about last night. So I’m just gonna tell you right now, I’m probably going to spend the night in Bucky’s room again.” He looked towards Bucky. “As long as that’s alright with him?”

“Yeah, course it is, Steve,” Bucky answered. “We can listen to the Pink Floyd albums I have and then—”

“I don’t wanna know man. Don’t tell me what goes on, I do _not_ need to know,” Sam said, glaring at Bucky. “Fine, I won’t assume you’re dead in a hallway somewhere if you aren’t in your bed tonight, or tomorrow morning.”

“Thanks Sam. Sorry again, about yesterday,” Steve apologized.

* * * *

Steve didn’t spend _every_ night after that in Bucky’s room, but he did spend more nights there than in his own bed.


	6. He might be little, but don’t underestimate him

It wasn’t surprising to anyone that Natasha’s remark about Steve being good for Bucky had proved to be true. Bucky was regularly attending all of his classes and when they all had a few days off coming up for Thanksgiving, it was a welcome break.

“You going home for Thanksgiving, Steve?” Sam asked as they sat around Natasha’s room watching television. Sam and Natasha sat on Natasha’s bed, Steve and Bucky on the floor. Natasha’s roommate Kate joined them, lying on her own bed.

“Nah, my mom really would love it if I could, but I can’t afford the bus ticket back home,” Steve said dejectedly. “What about you?”

“My family’s not really big on Thanksgiving,” Sam said. “Besides, Natasha’s gonna be here, so I’ll just hang around this weekend.”

“You didn’t tell me you were staying here over Thanksgiving! I already invited my friend America to come home with me, if I had known you weren’t going home I would have asked my parents if you could come to dinner too,” Kate said, flashing a pout at Natasha. “I can still call them and ask if you want me to,” she added.

“It’s fine Kate, really. Thank you though.” Turning to Bucky, Natasha asked, “What are you doing for the weekend, James?”

“My parents are at some retreat or something, so unless I want to go home and eat turkey with the maids and the butler, I’m staying here. In case you couldn’t tell, there’s no place I’d rather spend Thanksgiving than here with you guys.” Bucky rolled his eyes and added, “Besides, my father has already informed me that I’ll be joining them in Vail for Christmas.”

“Well then you guys are in luck,” Natasha said. She smiled at Sam, “Is it okay…”

“Sure, I don’t mind. At least this way I don’t have to worry about Steve,” Sam said.

“Okay, are you guys going to tell me what you’re talking about?” Steve asked. He turned to Bucky, noticing he looked as confused as Steve felt.

Bucky shrugged. “Don’t ask me, I have no idea what’s going on.”

“As usual,” Sam said, breaking into a grin. “Natasha and I are going into town on Thanksgiving.”

“Because I refuse to eat what passes for turkey and stuffing in the dining hall. So the plan is to grab dinner in town, my treat, and then hit the movies. What do you guys say, care to join us?” Natasha asked Steve and Bucky.

“What, you mean like a double date?” Steve asked.

“Steve, what—” Bucky spluttered, nearly choked on the sip of drink he’d just taken, his face growing red. “You can’t just say stuff like that, Steve.”

Natasha shrugged a shoulder. “Well, I mean, it’s the truth, isn’t it?” She looked to Sam for confirmation.

“Whoa, don’t put me in the middle of this!” Sam said, throwing up his arms. “All I know is Steve spends more nights away from our room than he does _in_ our room.”

“We might as well call it a date, Bucky,” Steve said, thumping the still coughing Bucky on the back.

Bucky’s face was still an unnatural shade of red. “Steve, you’re not supposed to… I mean—” he looked to Natasha for help.

“Steve, I think what James here is trying to say is that he’s not objecting to you calling it a date. What he seems to be struggling with is that he wanted to actually ask you out, not just have you announce it was a date. Am I right?” Natasha asked, looking to Bucky for confirmation.

Bucky nodded furiously.

“Oh,” Steve said. “Sorry, Bucky. I didn’t realize.”

“So, are you two idiots coming along, or not?” Sam asked.

“Steve,” Bucky said, turning to Steve, “Would you do me the honor?”

It was Steve’s turn to blush now, but he didn’t stammer when he answered. “Yes. Of course I would, Bucky.”

* * * *

Classes ended the Tuesday before Thanksgiving and would resume on Monday, so by Thanksgiving Day most of the students at Lakewood had gone home. Those who stayed were mostly students like Steve, who couldn’t afford to go home, or like Bucky, with families who were too busy in other places to celebrate Thanksgiving.

Steve, Sam and Bucky were all ready to go, they were just waiting for Natasha to come out of her room. “Go tell Clint we’re leaving,” she yelled through the door. “I’m almost done crimping my hair, then I’ll be ready.”

“Sure thing,” Sam yelled back. He grumbled under his breath as he walked down the hall towards Clint’s room, “I don’t know why she insists on spending so much time on her hair, she knows I don’t care.”

“You say something, Sam?” Bucky asked, holding back a laugh.

“Yeah, you heard me. Natasha is beautiful no matter what her hair looks like,” Sam answered, grinning.

“Aww, how sweet,” Steve said, poking Bucky in the side. “You feel the same way about me?”

“Oh, of course Steve, you’re beautiful no matter how your hair looks.” Bucky winked at Steve. “Just don’t shave your head,” he added.

Sam snorted, shaking his head. “You two are _not_ right.”

Sam stopped in front of Clint’s door and knocked.

Clint appeared at the door, looking confused as he shifted his gaze from Sam to Steve and Bucky.

“Alright, why are you three knocking on my door?”

“We just wanted to remind you that the three of us and Natasha are going into town for dinner and then a movie,” Steve reminded him.

“Oh, yeah, right,” Clint said, rubbing the back of his head. “What time will you guys be back, just so I know when to start worrying if you’re not?”

“Well, the movie should be over at eight,” Sam said, “so if we’re not back by nine, then you can start to worry.”

Clint nodded. “Great, so I’ll start calling hospitals at eight thirty.” He shut the door, leaving Sam, Steve and Bucky in the hallway laughing.

* * * *

When Natasha was finally ready, they walked to the bus stop a block away from campus.

“Guys,” Steve said. “Why am I the only one wearing this many layers? I fell like a marshmallow!”

“Because, Steve,” Natasha said, “you’re the only one who seems to get sick enough to land in the infirmary for a week. So stop complaining.”

When the bus chugged to a stop, the four of them piled on. The bus was mostly empty, and the ride into town only took about twenty minutes because there didn’t seem to be any people waiting at any of the stops they passed.

When the bus dropped them off downtown, they walked a few blocks, following Natasha.

“Here it is, guys,” she said, stopping in front of a brightly lit restaurant.

“Richards Family Restaurant?” Steve asked.

“Yeah, it’s really good here, and it’s one of the few places open on Thanksgiving. I’m going to have turkey on Thanksgiving, Steve, not pizza.”

“Sure, that’s fine, you’re paying after all,” Steve said agreeably. He didn’t care where they ate, he was just enjoying being out, having fun, with his friends. With his friends and Bucky.

When they went inside, there were only a few other diners, and the hostess seated them right away. Natasha ordered a turkey dinner plate that came with slices of turkey, stuffing and gravy, corn, cranberry sauce and rolls on the side.

“There’s no way you can eat all of that,” Sam said, his eyes growing wide as he looked from Natasha’s enormous plate to his own, smaller plate of meatloaf and mashed potatoes.

“You just watch me,” Natasha said, digging her fork into the stuffing. “I’m going to eat every bite and it’s going to be delicious.” She grinned before taking a bite.

Sam shook his head and smiled, nearly rolling his eyes before taking his own first bite. “It’s not quite like my mom makes, but it’ll do,” he said after trying the meatloaf.

Bucky had ordered the meatloaf like Sam, but Steve had a harder time deciding. He finally settled on a bowl of Irish stew, because it reminded him of the stew his mother made. It came in a bowl nearly as big as Steve’s head along with a huge chunk of soda bread and Sam didn’t waste any time commenting about the size of it.

“How are you even gonna eat all of that Steve? We can’t take a doggy bag into the movie theater, so I hope you’re planning to help him eat that, Bucky.”

Bucky looked at Steve, then the bowl of stew before smiling back at Steve again. “Nah, I think Steve’s got this. He might be little, but don’t underestimate him, Sam.”

* * * *

Natasha made good on her word, eating every single thing off her plate and Steve managed to put away his entire bowl of stew too.

“I don’t know where you guys put it,” Sam marveled. “Especially you Steve.”

“Yeah,” Bucky joked, “keep eating like that and you might put on a pound or two, Steve.” He poked Steve in the ribs, earning a small squeal from Steve.

“Hey, no fair! I’m really ticklish, Bucky!” Steve blushed, leaning away from Bucky.

“Ah, Steve, I didn’t know you were _that_ ticklish,” Bucky said, wiggling his fingers in Steve’s direction before the waitress brought the check for their meal, interrupting his attempts to tickle Steve again.

After Natasha paid for the check, they walked a few blocks farther downtown to the movie theater.

They stood outside the ticket window, huddled together as they tried to decide what movie to see.

“So, our choices are a cartoon about a mouse,” Bucky said, pointing to the poster for An American Tail, “Burt Reynolds in Heat, or Sid and Nancy. I know what’s getting my vote.”

“Well, I want to see Heat,” Sam said, “but I’m fine with whatever we decide on.”

“I kinda wanted to see An American Tale,” Steve told his friends. “I can’t help it, I like the animation, you know, art student,” he said. He shrugged and smiled.

“Well, I’d like to see Sid and Nancy, and I know that’s what James wants to see too, I don’t even have to ask. Can we all agree on that, or do we need to draw straws?” Natasha asked.

“No, that’s fine too. I’d like to see it. Bucky’s been making me listen to The Sex Pistols,” Steve said.

“Yeah, I know, they’re not your favorite band,” Bucky laughed.

“Well, I don’t hate them, but you have been forcing a lot of your music on me.” Steve smirked at Bucky, earning a glare in return.

“Forcing you? You punk, there’s no force involved!”

“Hey, don’t be a jerk! If I’m in your room and you’re playing music, what am I gonna do, leave?”

“Okay, okay, fine, Sid and Nancy it is,” Sam said. “I don’t need to stand here freezing my ass off listening to you two all night.”

“Don’t worry Steve, we can come back next weekend or something and see your cartoon mouse movie,” Bucky said, grinning at Steve.

They pooled their cash and handed Sam the money for the tickets. “Four tickets for Sid and Nancy, please,” Sam said to the woman behind the ticket counter.

Tickets in hand, they went inside the theater.

“Mmm, it smells good in here,” Natasha commented as they caught the scent of popcorn that permeated the theater.

“Don’t even try to tell me you want to hit the concessions stand, there’s no way you’re hungry for popcorn and candy,” Sam said, stepping in front of Natasha to try and block her view of the giant popcorn machine behind the counter.

“No, I’m not hungry,” Natasha said with a laugh, “but it still smells good.”

They all laughed then. “Oh wow, pumpkin pie, now that I could be hungry for,” Natasha said.

“Well that was random,” Bucky said, “even for you Nat.”

“Well, it is Thanksgiving, it’s not really over till you have pumpkin pie for dessert. I was just thinking about how you always have to have that slice of pie, even if you’re not hungry. Too bad the concession stand doesn’t have pie,” she finished.

 “You’re crazy,” Sam told her.

“Maybe, but you love me,” Natasha retorted.

“I do, so help me, it’s true. I do love you,” Sam wrapped his arm around Natasha and they started walking towards the theater.

Steve and Bucky followed, walking close to each other. Steve wished Bucky could put his arm around him, but he knew Bucky wouldn’t. Not that Bucky wouldn’t want to, just that it was better not to. Steve thought of the conversation he had with Bucky, telling him about holding Peggy’s hand in the theater on his date with her. That was the moment he decided that he would hold Bucky’s hand during the movie. He smiled just thinking about it, looking down at the faded geometric patterned carpet.

“What are you smiling so much for?” Bucky asked.

“Oh, nothing,” Steve told him, his smile growing. “I’m just having a good day, you know?”

Bucky turned to him, mid-stride. “Yeah Steve, I do know. It is a good day.”

Sam and Natasha took two seats together, Bucky sat next to Natasha and then Steve took the seat next to Bucky. Before the lights were even down, Natasha and Sam were cuddling, Natasha resting her head on Sam’s shoulder while Sam’s arm was around Natasha’s shoulders.

It wasn’t until the lights went down and the theater was dark that Steve reached for Bucky’s hand. He did it without hesitation, scooping Bucky’s hand unto his own and pulling Bucky’s arm across the armrest and into his lap. Bucky didn’t try to pull his hand away, but after a minute he leaned close to whisper, “You sure Steve?”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything, Bucky.”

Bucky didn’t say anything, but even in the darkened theater, Steve could see the huge smile on Bucky’s face.

Steve wanted to kiss Bucky, wanted to be like the couples in the back row making out, but he didn’t. Bucky seemed to really be enjoying the movie anyway and Steve knew they were taking a risk just by holding hands.

Halfway through the movie Steve whispered to Bucky that he was going to the restrooms. He got up from his seat, stepping sideways, as he tried to politely move past people in their aisle. He’d nearly reached the end of the aisle when he tripped over someone’s foot. “Sorry, I’m sorry,” Steve apologized in hushed tones.

“Shut up and move,” the person attached to the foot said rudely. Steve stumbled again and the guy that he’d tripped over snickered. Steve turned, taking a good look at the guy who had tripped him. He looked to be a few years older than Steve and was sporting a buzz cut.

Face burning, Steve went to the restroom, the bright lights making him blink as he adjusted. He drew in a few deep breaths, trying to shake off the bad feeling he’d gotten from the rude guy with the buzz cut. When he came back into the darkened theater, he stood at the back, letting his eyes readjust while he looked for the row he’d been sitting in. He spotted Natasha’s hair first, then made out Bucky and Sam and started making his way back to his seat. When he reached the aisle where his friends were sitting, he made sure to come in from the opposite end of the aisle rather than the side he’d left from. Natasha gave him a confused look as he passed her, but didn’t say anything. Even though he’d avoided the asshole who had tripped him, Steve was sure of that now, it wasn’t his fault, it had been intentional. He got the distinct feeling that the guy with the buzz cut, the guy who had purposely tripped him, was staring.

He sighed and slid down in his seat.

“You alright? Is everything okay, Steve?” Bucky asked.

“Yeah, ‘m fine,” Steve whispered.

“You sure you’re not sick or anything?” Bucky turned to Steve, a look of concern visible on his face.

“No, really. Everything is fine, I promise.” Steve forced a smile on his face to reassure Bucky, but he still couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched.

Bucky slid his hand back around Steve’s, intertwining their fingers. “I’m glad you’re here with me,” Bucky told him, his words soft near Steve’s ear.

“Me too, Bucky,” Steve whispered, squeezing Bucky’s hand.

They held hands through the rest of the movie. Steve did his best to focus on the screen and on the heat of Bucky’s hand in his.

When the movie ended and the lights came up, Natasha’s head was still on Sam’s shoulder. Steve was basking in the warm feeling that came from holding Bucky’s hand and he barely noticed that the people around them were leaving. Sam kissed Natasha lazily, his lips brushing her cheek. “C’mon guys, we’d better get to the bus stop, if we miss the next bus you know Clint’s gonna freak out.”

Bucky stood up, still holding Steve’s hand, tugging him out of his seat. “C’mon Steve, don’t want to miss the bus,” he grinned.

As Steve stood up, he heard the voice of the asshole from the end of the aisle.

“I don’t know what’s worse,” he said loudly to no one in particular. “That pretty girl with _him_ ,” he said, pointing at Sam, “Or those two fags holding hands.”

Steve froze, dropping Bucky’s hand, turning in the aisle. “You want to shut up?”

“Steve, man, don’t start anything,” Sam said from behind him.

“What a fucking shame, a pretty white girl with—”

“I said you’d better shut up.” Steve stepped forward as he spoke, his body trembling with adrenaline. He barely felt it when Bucky put a hand on his shoulder.

“What did you say, faggot?” The guy with the buzz cut reached out and shoved Steve, the flat of his palm connecting with Steve’s shoulder.

Steve stumbled backwards, only a single step before he caught himself. Drawing himself up to his full height, Steve said again, “Shut up. _Shut up_!” He launched himself at the asshole, ramming a fist into the guys stomach. Everyone around them gasped and Steve thought he heard Natasha say, “Oh shit.” It was only a split second before the guy threw a punch back at Steve, catching him across the nose.

Steve could feel blood pouring from his nose, the asshole with the buzz cut had hit him pretty hard, but at least it didn’t feel broken. That didn’t stop Steve though, and he swung again, his fist connecting with buzz cut guy’s chin.

This time when the asshole with the buzz cut hit Steve, it was harder than the first time. He knocked Steve back so that he would have fallen flat on his ass if Bucky hadn’t caught him. Bucky’s arms hooked under Steve’s and he drug him a few steps back before passing him off to Natasha.

Steve struggled to get back up, but Natasha and Sam held him back.

There was a hard edge to Bucky’s voice, something Steve had never heard before. “Get the hell out of here,” Bucky said, swinging a solid punch that connected with buzz cut guy’s nose. There was the distinct sound of the cartilage crunching and Steve knew Bucky had broken the guy’s nose.

This time there was no return punch, the guy with the buzz cut took off, hand cupped round his bleeding nose. “You fucking kids, you broke my damn nose,” he cried.

The few people that had been watching the fight cleared out of the theater, leaving the four friends standing in the aisle between the rows of seats. “Let’s get the hell out of here,” Natasha said after a few moments, breaking the stunned silence. “We’ll get you cleaned up at the bus stop, Steve,” she said, handing him a tissue out of her pocket.

Steve’s nose wasn’t bleeding heavily anymore but the tissue didn’t last long.

Bucky had been standing in the spot where he’d punched the guy, just standing stock still and he still hadn’t moved. “Bucky, we gotta go,” Steve said, reaching for Bucky.

Bucky flinched, pulling away from Steve’s touch. He stood still for another second then shook his head. “Yeah, ‘m coming. We can go now,” he said, following Steve as he trailed after Sam and Natasha, heading for the exit.

“Not so fast,” they heard a voice say. “You two boys need to stay here. I’ve called the police and they’re going to be here in a just a minute.”

“Shit, sir, I’m sorry,” Sam started to apologize. “We didn’t mean to cause any trouble, but—”

“Son, this doesn’t involve you, or the girl. I have a man in the lobby with a broken nose and he’s saying these two boys attacked him when the movie ended. So you two are free to go, it’s just these troublemakers the officers are going to want to talk to.”

“Jesus, Steve, what the hell did we do?” Bucky asked, sounding like he was going to be sick.

“Bucky, we didn’t _do_ anything, we defended ourselves. You heard the things he was saying.” Steve turned to the theater manager. “I’m sorry sir, we didn’t mean to fight, but that guy was saying some pretty rude things. He shoved me first.” It was clear the manager wasn’t listening, so Steve stopped talking.

“Come with me boys, we’ll wait for the police in my office,” the manager said as he escorted Steve and Bucky out of the theater.

Sam and Natasha followed. When they got to the manager’s office, he showed Steve and Bucky inside, turning to Sam and Natasha. “I suggest you two go home, you don’t want to get mixed up in this.”

“Those are our friends, man!” Steve heard Sam say as the manager closed the door. The door muffled Sam’s words after that, “Can’t we just leave? They won’t make any more trouble, we’ll never come back, I swear.”

“Sir, I’m really sorry, we didn’t mean to cause any trouble,” Steve apologized. Steve and Bucky sat down opposite the manager, who had taken his seat behind his desk.

“Well, someone broke that man’s nose, and now there’s blood all over my theater and the lobby and,” he passed Steve a box of tissues, “you’re dripping on my desk.”

Steve took the box of tissues and pulled out a handful, wadding them up under his nose and tipping his head back.

A few seconds later, there was a knock and then the door opened, revealing a uniformed police officer.

“Are these the two?” the officer asked.

The manager stood up nodding. “Yes, get them out of here, please.”

“Come with me boys, we’re going to go downtown,” the officer said. “If you promise not to give me any trouble, I won’t handcuff you.”

Bucky nodded glumly, looking down at his boots as he followed the officer. Steve glared at the manager before leaving. “I can’t believe he really called the cops,” Steve muttered under his breath.

“What was that, son?” the officer asked.

“Nothing,” Steve said. He was angry, but he wasn’t stupid. But he couldn’t let it go, it wasn’t right, nothing that had happened was right. “You don't even want to hear our side of the story?” Steve asked indignantly. “You're just going to take us to the station?”

“We'll get your story at the station. Now, let's go,” the officer said pointedly.

 Steve noticed how upset Bucky looked but he couldn't figure out whether it was because they were in trouble with the police or over what he had done.

The ride to the station was somber, no one saying a word until Steve asked the officer a question. “What happened to the guy with the buzz cut?” he said, speaking loudly, so the office could hear him over the engine.

“You mean the gentleman whose nose you broke?” the officer answered. “Another officer took him to the hospital, he'll get his statement there.” There was a pause, followed by a sigh from the officer. “I have to tell you boys, this was a pretty stupid thing to do.”

“We didn't do anything but defend ourselves!” Steve said, his voice rising. “No one is listening to me, no one cares about the fact that me and all of friends were insulted by that guy. That he started the fight.”

“Save it for the precinct, it’s not going to do you any good to shout at me. It’s all going to depend on whether or not there are charges brought against you.”

When they reached the station, the officer pulled them both out of the squad car and led them to a small cell. He left them alone, closing the bars behind him.

There was a narrow metal bench bolted to one wall; Steve sat down first and a few seconds later so did Bucky. He sat as far away from Steve as he possibly could, something that surprised Steve. They sat, not speaking to each other for a few minutes, before a different officer came to retrieve Steve.

“Let's get your information,” the officer told Steve. Steve followed him out of the cell, glancing back at Bucky before the officer closed the bars again.

Steve followed him through the station to his desk.

“Sit down please,” the officer said.

“Listen, officer...” Steve started, realizing he didn’t know the officer’s name.

“Officer Maxwell.”

“Officer Maxwell, I only punched that guy because he shoved me and was calling me and my friends some pretty awful names. We didn't do anything to provoke that.”

Officer Maxwell looked at Steve, his mouth set in a thin line. “Well, I'll tell you, he decided not to press charges, but since you and your friend back in the holding cell are minors, I have to release you into the custody of an adult. So let me get your information and we'll call your parents.”

“Ah, well, that might be a little bit of a problem,” Steve told Officer Maxwell.

“You let me worry about any problems, just tell me your name, date of birth, address and phone number.”

Steve sighed resignedly. “Steven Grant Rogers. Born July fourth, nineteen sixty nine.” He rattled off his address and phone number then added, “I live with my mother sir, and she's not going to be home right now. She's a nurse and because it's a holiday she'll be in the middle of a 12 hour shift, so I know she's not going to be able to drive the 6 hours to come bail me out.”

Officer Maxwell frowned. “What are you doing here in Lakewood, Connecticut if you’re from Brooklyn, Steve?”

“I attend Lakewood Academy, sir.”

“Well, we'll just call Dean Phillips then, we can release you to someone from the school,” Officer Maxwell told Steve.

“Thank you, sir. I know my mother will appreciate not being called out of work,” Steve said. Not that his mom could have made the trip anyway, she wouldn’t have been able to afford it either.

Officer Maxwell took Steve back to the holding cell, where Bucky sat looking miserable. Steve sat down on the bench again, scooting closer to Bucky. “Don't worry Bucky, it's fine,” Steve said, plastering on a smile. “Buzz cut guy isn't pressing charges and they're just gonna release me to Dean Phillips.”

Bucky nodded, not meeting Steve's eyes.

“Alright, your turn,” Officer Maxwell said to Bucky.

Bucky rose and woodenly followed Officer Maxwell, not looking back at Steve as he left the holding cell.

While Bucky was gone, Steve allowed himself to worry. If Dean Phillips wanted to, he could kick Steve out of Lakewood Academy, revoke his scholarship and send him back home tonight. He could only hope that wouldn't happen. Pulling his inhaler from his pocket, Steve shook it as hard as he could. He wasn’t sure what the tightness in his chest was from but it scared him a little bit. He brought the inhaler to his mouth and exhaled, emptying his lungs before placing the spacer between his teeth and closing his mouth around it. He pressed down on the inhaler, breathing deeply as the medicine flowed to his lungs. Holding his breath, he leaned his head against the wall. He was jittery and his lungs fought to exhale too soon. Steve forced himself to calm down, remembering the way it had felt to hold Bucky’s hand during the movie. For that short time, there in the dark theater, things had seemed perfect. He’d been out with friends, on a date. Suddenly Bucky’s words from weeks ago made too much sense.

When he heard Officer Maxwell coming back with Bucky, Steve forced a smile on his face again.

“See, that wasn’t so bad, right?” Steve asked Bucky.

Bucky turned to Steve with a terrified look in his eyes. “They called my dad,” he said flatly.

“Oh... okay, I thought you said he was away?” Steve asked. “So, what’s going on, is he coming to take you back to school?”

“I guess so. I guess he's in town. No one tells me anything. I don't know. I don’t know what he'll do, Steve.”

They waited in silence, Steve had no idea what to say to Bucky but Bucky clearly didn't want to talk. What Steve _wanted_ to do was hug Bucky, kiss him and tell him not to worry, but he couldn't do that.

There was a commotion by the main precinct doors and a man in a sharp, navy blue suit strode into the room. “Where is he?” His voice was loud and commanding and as his face came into view, Steve knew it was Bucky's dad. “Where’s my son?” he asked again.

Bucky’s dad walked up to the holding cell, frowning. “James, this is unacceptable behavior. They interrupted my dinner to have me come down and retrieve you from a _police station_. Come on, we're leaving. I'm taking you back to school. This is the last straw, you should know that if anything like this happens again, it's going to be military school for you.”

Bucky stood up, walking towards his father. “Sir, I'm sorry,” Bucky said, refusing to meet his father’s eyes and instead focusing on his highly polished shoes.

“Sorry doesn't change things, James, now let's go,” Mr. Barnes said.

Bucky hesitated. “Sir, can we take my friend back with us too?”

“What? What are you talking about? Who?” Mr. Barnes asked, looking past Bucky to regard Steve with a hard stare.

“Steve,” Bucky said. “He's... he's my... best friend. Please, sir.”

“Well if he was a better friend he wouldn't be in a jail cell with you, would be?” Bucky’s father said, sounding annoyed. “Now, let's go. We’ll let Steve’s parents worry about getting him home.”

“ _No_! I’m not leaving. Not without Steve!” Bucky practically shouted as Officer Maxwell opened the holding cell.

“James, enough,” Mr. Barnes said as he yanked Bucky by the arm and out of the cell.

“Steve!” Bucky called as his father forcibly pulled him out of the room.

Steve stood, trying not to cry. Not that he was upset about being left behind, he knew Dean Phillips would send someone to pick him up, but Bucky’s distress was palpable.

“It’s okay, Bucky,” Steve yelled across the room, “I’ll be okay.”

Officer Maxwell closed the holding cell again, locking Steve inside. “Have a seat, son,” he said.


	7. I think he needs you more than you realize, Steve

Steve waited nervously in the holding cell for someone to come and take him back to the school. He didn’t know if Dean Phillips would be coming himself, or if he’d send someone else. Either way Steve knew he’d be talking with the Dean sooner or later.

He sat in the holding cell for close to two hours after Bucky had been dragged away by his father. It left Steve with entirely too much time to worry and nothing to distract himself. He toyed with his inhaler and wished he had a pencil and sketchbook to distract himself.

Finally, Officer Maxwell came back to the cell. “Someone from the school is here for you, Steve.”

Steve stood, expecting to see Dean Phillips walk through the door. Instead, he was surprised to see Clint.

“You'll take him straight back to Lakewood?” Officer Maxwell asked Clint.

“Yes sir,” Clint said seriously. “And no more trips off campus for awhile.”

Officer Maxwell nodded. He opened the holding cell and waited for Steve to walk out.

“You stay out of trouble, alright? I don't know what actually happened, but maybe you need to be careful who you're spending time with. Mr. Barnes is a very respected member of the community, you don't want to get on his bad side by corrupting his son.”

Steve nodded, a lump forming in his throat. What if Bucky’s dad made good on his threat and took Bucky out of school? That thought was just as terrifying as the possibility that Dean Phillips might kick _him_ out.

He followed Clint to the street out front where he looked around to see what Clint had driven. He spotted one of the school vans, white with the Lakewood logo on the side in navy blue.

“Let's go,” Clint said. “I'm missing the end of the football game.”

“I didn’t know you were a football fan,” Steve said stupidly, climbing into the van.

“Nah, I’m not, not really. But I kind of made a bet and I’d like to see if I win or not.”

Clint waited until Steve was seated and buckled in before cranking up the radio. Christmas music was already playing and Clint started humming along.

Steve’s curiosity finally got the better of him so he asked, “How come you're picking me up? I mean, thanks, I’m glad to be out of there, but the officer told me he was going to call Dean Phillips.”

“Well, Dean Phillips was at a family dinner and didn't want to leave, so I volunteered,” Clint said, giving a one shouldered shrug. He grinned at Steve. “Natasha begged me to come actually. She was worried about you. So I gotta ask, what happened? You look like shit.”

“We were at the movies, right? And this douchebag just tripped me when I got up to go to the bathroom. So fine, whatever. But then later, when the movie ended he started in on us. Saying really mean shit to Sam and Natasha and then to me and Bucky. I told him to stop and he wouldn’t, so I punched him.”

“Wow, holy shit,” Clint said, shaking his head. “So, you and Bucky? You're like a thing?”

Steve swallowed. “”I... I guess so.” He drew in a shaky breath to stop himself from stammering. “I don't know, Clint.” He glanced over, unable to meet Clint’s eyes, but Clint was focused on the road ahead of them. Steve scrubbed his eyes with the back of his hands, his words tumbling out in a rush. “I like him a lot, and I'm pretty sure he likes me, but I haven't thought about it a lot because it's pretty fucking complicated.”

Clint laughed, tapping the steering wheel in time with the music.

“What's so funny?” Steve asked indignantly.

“Just the mouth on you, you're a spitfire, kid. You're this tiny little ball of fury and I pity anyone who gets on your bad side.”

Steve wasn't sure if Clint wad making fun of him or being serious. Clint glanced away from the road, nodding to Steve. “I hope you at least gave the other guy as good a beating as you got.”

“Bucky broke his nose,” Steve said quietly

“What's that? Bucky knows? You know I can't hear worth a damn,” Clint said tapping his hearing aid with a finger.

“I said,” Steve repeated loudly, “Bucky broke his nose.”

“Well shit. No wonder his dad looked so pissed off. He stormed into the dorms, dragging Bucky along like a scared dog. He took Bucky to his room and slammed the door but you could still hear him yelling all the way down the hall.”

Steve’s stomach dropped and it wasn’t because of Clint’s driving. “Is Bucky alright? I mean, what happened?”

“I dunno, his dad left after awhile and Bucky still hadn't come out of his room when I left.”

Steve gripped the edge of his seat. “Hurry up Clint, I have to make sure Bucky’s okay.”

“I’m going as fast as I can,” Clint said, but Steve could tell he pressed harder on the gas pedal anyway.

* * * *

When they finally pulled up to Lakewood Academy, Steve barely waited for the van to come to a complete stop before he opened his seat belt and threw the door open, running into the dorms as fast as he could.

“Hey!” Clint called after him, “Steve, just so you know, Dean Phillips is going to want to talk to you on Monday.”

Monday and Dean Phillips were a world away in Steve’s mind. He had to see Bucky, wanted to make sure he was okay.

Steve dashed into the dorms heading straight for Bucky's room. Before he even got to the door he could hear loud music pouring from the room. Bucky was blasting music that Steve wasn’t familiar with, but it was loud, heavy with drums and guitar.

Steve knocked on the door but it could barely be heard above the music. Bucky, it's me, it's Steve, open up.” He pounded on the door this time.

There was no answer so Steve waited. He stood at the door through three songs before he felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Steve, he's not in a good place right now,” Natasha said.

Steve turned away from Bucky’s door slowly. “I just want him to know I'm back, that I'm okay.”

“He'll turn the music down eventually,” she sighed, “he always does.”

“He's done this before?”

Natasha hesitated. “Yeah, I've seen it a few times... usually after a call from his parents or when he's come back from visiting them.”

“Natasha, I just want him to let me in.” Steve’s words held a double meaning and apparently Natasha understood because she nodded in agreement.

“Steve, go clean yourself up, get changed. Wipe the blood off your face. I'll try calling him from my room, he might answer the phone. Come back when you don't look like death warmed over.”

Steve shook his head. “No, I want to wait here until he comes out, or lets me in.”

“Steve, please. Listen to me, even if he opens the door right now—and I can guarantee he won’t—you don’t want him to see you like this; you’ll just make him feel worse.”

“Fine, you’re right,” Steve said reluctantly. He left Bucky's door and went back to his dorm room.

When he walked in, Sam jumped off the bed. “Steve, are you alright? What happened?”

“The guy didn’t press charges. So really, we just had to wait for someone to come and pick us up. Parent or guardian. Bucky’s dad came to get him and Bucky wanted to take me with but his dad was being a real jerk about it.”

“Shit, Steve, I'm sorry.” Sam sat back down on the edge of his bed, his shoulders slumping. “You going to bed?” he asked.

“No,” Steve shook his head. “I'm going to talk to Bucky, if he'll let me in. Natasha told me to get cleaned up.”

“Yeah, no offense dude but she’s right. You look awful,” Sam told him.

“So you guys keep telling me,” Steve said, forcing a small chuckle.

He went into the bathroom and closed the door. The bathroom was cold and every sound seemed amplified, even Steve’s ragged breathing. It echoed off the walls, bouncing around like the thoughts ricocheting through his head.

He turned on the taps and let the water run until it was warm. He washed his face, cleaning away the dried blood crusted around his nose and stared into the mirror at the bruise forming under both eyes.

When he was cleaned up and tired of looking at the mess of his face, Steve changed into a clean t-shirt, tossing the bloodied one in the trash. He pulled off his jeans and dressed in a pair of flannel pajama bottoms. Not caring how he might look walking around the dorms in his pajamas he went back to Bucky's doorway. The music was off and Natasha stood there, arms crossed over her chest.

“I talked to him,” she said softly. “He unlocked the door, and you can go in but I don't know if he'll talk to you or not.”

“Thank you, Natasha,” Steve said, reaching for the door.

Natasha stopped him. “Steve, do you love him?”

Steve was taken aback by her question. “What?” His heart hammered in his chest and he knew, _he knew_ the answer to Natasha’s question. He didn’t have a reason not to be truthful. “I do, god, Natasha, I don’t know why but it was easy to fall in love with Bucky, but…”

“Steve, it’s easy to love someone when they’re happy. What’s hard is loving someone when they’re crying on the bathroom floor in the middle of the night because everything came crashing down at once.”

“Natasha, I do love him though. I’ve never said that to anyone before, besides my mom. I didn't really think about it before, but I love Bucky.”

“Then tell him that. He's hurting, he's empty and he needs you. Steve. I told you you're good for him.” Natasha’s words weren’t harsh, but they were blunt.

“Yeah, so good. I’m such a good influence on him that I got him into this mess. If I hadn’t let my temper get the best of me none of this would have happened,” Steve said bitterly.

“Don't say that, Steve. You did what you thought was right, you didn't back down. You defended Sam and I, you defended your friends. Defended Bucky.”

“Yeah. Maybe, but he ended up defending me, he threw the punch that ended the fight.”

“I know Steve, I was there,” Natasha reminded him. “And that’s why he's upset, because he feels like this whole mess is his fault.”

“Jesus, Natasha, what am I gonna tell him? How will I get him to believe me?”

“Just tell him what you said to me. Listen to him. Just be there for him, Steve.”

Steve sighed. “Thanks Natasha.”

She nodded, frowning lightly as she walked away. Steve let himself into Bucky’s room. The first thing he was hit with was the smell of smoke. Clearly Bucky was high.

“Bucky,” Steve called, “are you alright?” He stepped into the room. It was dark and Steve inched his way across the floor so that he could find Bucky. He tripped over something that sounded suspiciously like beer bottles as they clattered to the floor.

Bucky didn’t answer but Steve could make out his shape on the bed. Steve found the edge of the bed in the dark room and sat down. “Hey, Bucky,” he whispered. He rested his hand on Bucky’s shoulder. As his eyes adjusted to the dark, he could see that Bucky was lying on his side, facing the wall. He was still wearing the same t-shirt he’d had on earlier. As Steve’s eyes adjusted to the darkness, he picked out the white gleam of Bucky’s underwear. As if he’d started to get undressed and then given up.

“Bucky, I got out, it’s okay. Clint came and picked me up. I wasn’t even there much longer than you,” Steve said, trying to sound cheerful.

Bucky made a small noise that Steve could barely hear.

“Bucky, what’s wrong, please talk to me,” he tried again.

Bucky sighed and shifted on the bed. “Steve, you don’t have to be here. You probably don’t want to be here, just go.”

Steve was stunned into silence, frozen in place until he heard Bucky’s voice again.

“You’re still here, why? Just leave me alone.” Bucky’s voice was full of vehemence, a dry, brittle whisper.

Steve sucked in a gasp. “You don’t meant that. Bucky, please talk to me. What happened with your dad?”

 Bucky snorted, and then said in another hushed whisper, “I don’t want to talk about it, Steve.”

“So then tell me what’s wrong, what’s going on, Bucky. Why would you think that I don’t want to be here? That I don’t want to be with you?”

“I can’t explain it, Steve. I don’t even know what’s wrong, except me. I’m wrong. That’s what my father is always telling me. I just… I don't understand how it's so easy for you, Steve.”

“How what’s so easy for me?” Steve asked, feeling confused.

“How can it be so easy for you to just decide you want to be with me? To decide to throw a punch at some jerk who felt the need to call us names?”

“Bucky, that guy got what he deserved,” Steve said, trying to keep the anger out of his voice. “And the rest of it, wanting to be with you… I didn't think about it Bucky, I just knew I liked you, from that first moment. Even though you were standoffish, I liked you. It wasn't like I had to choose between following my heart and my head—”

Bucky rolled over and even in the dark room Steve could see Bucky’s eyes shining with tears. “Steve, that's the thing, it's not a battle between my heart and my head. It’s like a battle between my heart, my head, the whole world, my parents, _especially my father_. God, he hates me Steve.”

“No, Bucky, no. I'm sure he doesn't hate you.”

“He does, Jesus, he does. I can't... I can't even repeat the things he said to me tonight.” Bucky’s lower lip trembled, but he wasn’t quite crying. “My point is, I've known I liked other boys since even before I was ten and I kissed Jimmy Maxwell after our ballet lessons.”

Bucky paused but Steve had the feeling he wasn’t done talking yet, so he waited. If Bucky needed to tell him all of this, then he’d listen. It was the only thing he _could_ do.

 “You know what my father did after he found out about that? He yelled at me for four hours, took me out of ballet classes, refused to let me take any lessons besides music, he fired my Louise.  My nanny that had taken care of me, spent more time with me than he ever had since the day I was born. He blamed her for not keeping me under control, for letting me kiss a boy. So, Steve, yeah, my heart says go for it, but everything else, _everything else_ tells me it's wrong.”

The sob that had been trapped in Bucky’s throat escaped his lips and he turned away from Steve again. His breath was coming in shallow gasps, the muscles in his shoulders tense and tight. Steve shifted, moving to lay down next to Bucky. His hands moved of their own accord, smoothing Bucky’s hair, rubbing circles over his shoulders. Bucky didn’t deserve to feel like this, to be made to feel like this. Especially by his own father.

“Bucky, it’s going to be okay,” Steve told him quietly. He didn’t know if things would be okay, if they ever could be, but he wanted them to, he wanted to make things okay for Bucky.

“Yeah,” Bucky said, his voice shaking. “Sure it will.”

“Bucky, please.” Steve’s voice was quiet, but it still sounded too loud in the small space of Bucky’s bed in the darkened bedroom.

“I’m fine,” Bucky said, his words coming out harshly.

Steve could feel Bucky swallow and he tightened his arms around Bucky’s waist in response.

Steve held Bucky, just letting him sob silently. It took some time for Bucky’s shoulders to stop shaking and his breathing to even out, but Steve could feel the anger and pain just melting away. Bucky shifted, moving in Steve’s arms so they could face each other.

Bucky swallowed and opened his eyes, glancing at Steve. There was sad, devastated look in his eyes, something like disbelief. He rested his head against the pillow, his body more relaxed than before. Bucky made a small, involuntary noise that came from the back of his throat, just trying to get his breathing under control.

Steve didn’t move, he just reached a hand up and started stroking Bucky’s hair again. It was all he could think of to do.

“Sorry,” Bucky said once he caught his breath. He paused as if he was searching for words. “I just…” he trailed off, looking at Steve.

Steve could see tears forming in the corner of Bucky’s eyes again. “Bucky,” he said softly, “listen to me. You’re not wrong. This, us, it isn’t wrong.”

Bucky winced and tried to look away but in the dark room, trapped between the wall and Steve’s body, there was nowhere for him to look but at Steve.

Steve reached a hand down and grabbed Bucky’s waist, holding them together. Bucky swallowed and Steve felt Bucky bring a hand to rest on Steve’s waist.

 “Steve, it doesn’t _feel_ wrong. I know it should, that’s all I’ve ever been told, but god, Steve… I’m sorry. I want… I just want to kiss you and hold your hand and not have to worry about what everyone else thinks about it.” The words tumbled from Bucky’s mouth. Bucky bit down on his bottom lip and held on hard to Steve, drawing in a sharp gasp.

“Bucky.” There were so many things Steve wanted to say, wanted to tell Bucky, but he couldn’t seem to sort them out.  Bucky’s eyes fell shut again, and Steve acted on instinct. He pressed a kiss to Bucky’s temple and whispered, “Jesus, Bucky, what the hell do you have to be sorry for?”

Bucky’s eyes snapped open at Steve’s words. “What the hell do I have to be sorry for?” Bucky asked, letting out a small, manic laugh at the end. His grip tightened on Steve, fingers digging into Steve’s hip. “I’m sorry for dumping all my problems on you. I’m sorry for dragging you into this, for kissing you and I’m sorry for the thoughts I can’t stop having about you.”

Steve pulled back and looked at Bucky with wide eyes. He needed to make Bucky understand that he hadn’t done anything wrong, not a thing. “Don’t you dare apologize to me again.” Steve wanted to kiss Bucky, to show him just how much he didn’t need to be sorry for anything, but it felt like the wrong time. “Don’t you get it. I’m here. I’m here and I’m with you because I care about you. You didn’t drag me into anything and I like kissing you, Bucky. I like you.”

“Steve.” Bucky glanced away. He took a breath then looked back at Steve, shaking his head slightly.

“Bucky, you gotta stop,” Steve told him. Bucky didn’t say anything, so Steve continued. “We don’t have to let what anyone else says or thinks matter to us. All that matters to me is you.” What he really wanted to say was ‘I love you’ but it felt too soon and utterly inappropriate. Not that he didn’t feel that way, he did, he even told Natasha as much. But if he said it to Bucky right now it might sound forced, like a gesture of pity.

Steve continued in a soft voice, as he stroked his thumb in small circles against Bucky’s temple. “You don’t have to say anything, Bucky. I’m here because I want to be, and if you want to talk about it, I’ll listen.” He paused, drawing in a deep breath, “And even if you don’t, know that I care about you a whole lot Bucky, more than I think I’ve ever cared about—“

“Stop,” Bucky said, his voice cracking as a small sob escaped his lips. “Just stop it, Steve. Please. I don’t deserve this, I don’t deserve you.” Bucky’s breathing was coming out in angry, rough exhalations as he pushed Steve away and sat up in the bed, leaning against the wall.

Bucky’s push wasn’t forceful, but it moved Steve enough that he was startled. He sat up too, sitting next to Bucky but not touching him.

Bucky must have wanted to be close because he pulled himself close to Steve, wrapping his arms around his own legs.

Bucky’s body pressed warmly to his and Steve wrapped an arm around Bucky’s shoulders, pulling him closer. Bucky’s head rested on his shoulder so Steve kissed the top Bucky’s head, just a quick, sweet press of lips. “Bucky, it’s okay,” Steve whispered. “Just… If you can tell me how I can help you, I want to help you.”

Bucky shook his head. “I don’t know,” he rasped. “I don’t fucking know.” Bucky sighed heavily and a few tears escaped his eyes.

Steve pressed Bucky closer. The weight of Bucky’s head tucked against his shoulder should have been heavy, but it wasn’t. They stayed like that for a few minutes before Steve cleared his throat. “I’m going to turn on the light, would that be okay?”

 “Yeah,” Bucky said, his voice cracking again.

Steve moved away from Bucky slowly, flipping on the light switch beside the door. The light on the ceiling clicked on and flooded the room with light. He saw Bucky wiping away tears with the back of his hand, his shoulders hunched against the wall.

Steve slipped back into the bed next to Bucky. He was hesitant to wrap his arms around Bucky again, but the way Bucky was looking at him, his expression was too sad and pained. Steve held out his arms and Bucky looked at him, the ghost of a smile flashing across his face.

Steve smiled back and pulled Bucky close once again. Bucky’s face rested against Steve’s and he inhaled, breathing in the familiar scent of Bucky Barnes. Many minutes passed before Steve spoke again. “How’re you feeling?” he asked.

“Like shit,” Bucky said. There was a trace of sarcasm in his voice and Steve had the decency not to chuckle.

Steve checked the clock on Bucky’s nightstand. It was well after midnight. “You know what my mom always used to tell me when I felt like shit?” Steve asked. “She’d say, go to sleep Steve, things will always look better in the morning.” He smiled at Bucky. “Do you think you could sleep?” he asked. He was exhausted and he figured Bucky was too.

“I don’t know, maybe. Maybe if you stay with me,” Bucky said, shrugging.

“Yeah, of course. Of course I’ll stay, Bucky. I just have to call Sam, you know. Let him know I won’t be back.” Steve hoped Sam wasn’t already asleep, that a call wouldn’t wake him up and make him grumpy.

Bucky nodded. “Please. I need you to stay with me.”

Steve slipped off the bed again, towards the phone on the wall. Twisting the cord around his fingers, he dialed the extension for his and Sam’s room.

Sam picked up on the third ring. “Hello?”

“It’s me. Steve,” Steve said.

“Are you still with Bucky?” Sam asked.

“Yeah, I hope I didn’t wake you up, but I’m staying with him tonight, I just wanted to let you know.”

“I figured you would. Natasha’s here and she’s been talking to me about Bucky. I think he needs you more than you realize, Steve.”

“Yeah, Sam. I’m figuring that out.” Steve sighed. “I need him too,” he added quietly.

“Good luck man, see you later,” Sam said. There was a soft click as he hung up and Steve placed the receiver back on the wall.

Bucky had already slid down to lie on the bed again and was under the covers. He smiled sadly as Steve turned out the light again and  joined him on the bed.

“You need me too?” Bucky asked as Steve joined him under the covers.

“I do, Bucky. I do.” Steve pulled Bucky close and they fell asleep, side by side, holding onto each other

* * * *

Steve woke before Bucky did, the morning light coming through the windows casting a soft glow throughout the room. They were still laying face to face, Bucky’s arm draped around him. Steve could tell Bucky was still asleep by his soft breathing and the steady rise and fall of his chest. He waited, just watching Bucky sleep. It was only a few minutes before Bucky’s eyes opened, his face close and warm. “Good morning,” Steve said softly. “Are  you feeling okay?”

“Yeah, ‘m alright, Steve.” Bucky smiled sleepily. “You stayed, you’re still here.” His voice was husky with sleep but there was a tender note to his words. “You’re all mine.”

Smiling, Steve answered him, “Yeah Bucky, I’m all yours.” He ran a hand through Bucky’s hair and pressed a kiss to the top of Bucky’s head. His eyes fluttering closed, this time not out of tiredness, Bucky breathed deeply.

 This wasn’t the first time they’d been alone like this. It wasn’t the first time they’d woken up together. But something felt different this time.

Bucky pressed his lips to Steve’s and pushed himself up and over Steve. He placed one knee between Steve’s legs and the other against Steve’s hip. He braced himself on his elbows and stroked Steve’s face, his calloused thumb rough against Steve’s cheek. “Hi,” he said quietly, his breath ghosting across Steve’s mouth, warm and inviting.

 “Hey,” Steve whispered back. He took a deep breath and reached up to cup the back of Bucky’s neck. He guided Bucky closer and kissed him. Bucky’s mouth opened easily for him and he tasted like beer, pot, and something a little like sadness, but it wasn’t a bad taste. The kiss was slow and easy, as if they’d done this a hundred times. They probably had done this a hundred times. Bucky’s thumb still stroked Steve’s cheekbone, drawing slow lines over his jaw.

Steve buried his fingers in Bucky’s hair, letting his fingers tangle in the strands before he moved a hand down from his hair onto Bucky’s neck. He splayed out his fingers, pulling Bucky closer to him. He wrapped his other arm around Bucky’s back, feeling him shift underneath the flat of his palm.

Bucky’s kisses were tender and chaste, his mouth moving softly over Steve’s. Steve could only take so much of that, could only bear it for so long before he pressed his teeth into Bucky’s bottom lip, tugging lightly.

Bucky inhaled sharply and Steve took the opportunity to slip his tongue between Bucky’s lips, running it across Bucky’s teeth.

Bucky sighed softly, letting his mouth fall open farther, inviting Steve’s kisses. Steve closed his eyes, moving his tongue inside Bucky’s mouth. But it wasn’t enough, Steve wanted more, wanted Bucky closer.

Steve tugged at Bucky’s hair and Bucky groaned in response, arching against Steve. Bucky moved his mouth from Steve’s lips to his neck, kissing along his throat.

They started making out again, mouths hot and heavy as their hands roamed across each other’s bodies. Bucky’s weight on top of him was familiar and comforting and Steve was more than a little turned on. And when Bucky slid his hands underneath Steve’s shirt, he couldn’t stop himself from moaning, the thrill of Bucky’s fingertips against his skin shooting through his whole body. And all Bucky had done was touch his side.

Before long, they both had their hands shoved under each other’s shirts, and Steve shifted, squirming on the mattress, and oh, that was Bucky’s hard cock brushing up against his. He released a muffled moan against Bucky’s mouth and rolled his hips. Like it was the most natural thing in the world, Bucky moved his hips in response and they started rubbing against one another, Bucky’s hard cock straining against his own.

Bucky was on top of Steve, and his hips moved in an uncoordinated rhythm to match Steve’s movements as they desperately kissed each other. Bucky’s hands slid beneath his shirt, tickling his sides before he lightly thumbed his nipples and Steve arched up off the mattress, pushing himself as close to Bucky as he could.

All of Steve’s limbs were tingling, from the tips of his fingers and toes, every sensation, every one of Bucky’s touches going straight to his cock. Nothing about this felt wrong, it felt entirely right and he hoped Bucky felt that way too, because it was so good. He’d never done anything like this before, getting off from just this, just rubbing against each other. He wanted to try everything with Bucky, wanted everything Bucky could offer him, but right now, this was perfect.

“Steve, I’m… I’m close,” Bucky mumbled against Steve’s jaw.

“Me too, Bucky. Me too,” Steve whispered, straining against Bucky.

Bucky reached down between them and cupped Steve through his pajama pants and started rubbing along his length. The feel of Bucky’s hand, his touch warm and firm, was so exciting and unexpected that Steve arched off the bed and came right then. “Aaah, god, Bucky,” he whimpered.

Bucky kept rubbing him through his orgasm, as he dropped kisses all over Steve’s neck, jaw, and cheeks and Steve shuddered against Bucky as his hand stroked Steve through the aftershocks.

“God, Steve, you’re so hot, so hot and you’re all mine,” Bucky said, echoing his words from earlier. He kissed Steve’s mouth as he kept rubbing against Steve’s thigh.

Steve could barely move, his entire body felt limp and tired but he reached down and tried to touch Bucky, tried to do for Bucky what he had done for him.

He felt it the moment Bucky came, his body tensed and Bucky grunted before letting out a soft moan. It is quite possibly the hottest sound Steve had ever heard, and he wanted to do whatever he could to cause Bucky to make it over and over again. Bucky’s hips sped up, jerking clumsily before they slowed as he rode out his orgasm before he collapsed half on top of Steve.

“Shit, Steve,” Bucky said, his voice uneven, breathing still ragged. “We just kinda had sex.” Bucky closed his eyes and let his head drop onto Steve’s shoulder.

Steve ran his fingers through Bucky’s hair, now damp with sweat, and reveled in the warmth and closeness. “I hope that was okay,” Steve said, mumbling against Bucky’s hair. He closed his eyes too and inhaled Bucky’s scent, then kissed Bucky’s forehead. He didn’t regret it, not one second of what they’d done and he hoped Bucky didn’t either, so he told him as much. “Bucky, I’m glad that happened, I’m glad it was with you.”

“Yeah, Steve. That was okay,” Bucky said. “That was more than okay. I’m glad it happened too.”

Steve opened his eyes to find Bucky watching him. He rolled off Steve, propping himself up on his side with an elbow. “Remember how I told you that I’d been thinking about kissing you but that I was afraid if I started kissing you, I wouldn’t be able to stop?” Bucky asked.

Steve nodded his head against the pillow, turning to look at Bucky. “Yeah, I remember that.”

“Well, I’ve thought about stuff like what we just did a lot too,” Bucky stopped hesitating. “And now that it happened, for real, I’m not sure I’m gonna be able to stop wanting it to happen again.”

“And just like I told you that time, nothing wrong with that,” Steve said softly. He remembered what Bucky had said when they’d discussed kissing. And after the ordeal with the guy at the movies and the police station, he was surprised Bucky was so calm right now.

“You look lost in deep thought,” Buck said. “What are you thinking about?”

Natasha’s words echoed in his head and he decided just to say what was on his mind. “Bucky, I love you.”


	8. You’re taking all the stupid with you

They spent the rest of the weekend together, barely coming out of Bucky’s room. It almost made up for the fact that Bucky hadn’t returned Steve’s words. It wasn’t so much a blow to Steve’s pride as it was confusing. He knew Bucky liked him, he knew he cared about him. Natasha had told him to let Bucky know how he was feeling, and he had. He wondered at first if Bucky didn’t feel the same way, but actions speak louder than words and Bucky’s actions spoke volumes. At least he hadn’t argued with Steve, told him he didn’t know what he was talking about.

“I should probably spend the night in my own room tonight,” Steve told Bucky on Sunday evening as they sat in the dining hall with Sam and Natasha. By then all of the students who had gone home over Thanksgiving had returned and the dining hall was crowded and noisy.

“What for, punk? You getting sick of me?” Bucky asked with mock indignation.

“Never,” Steve told him. “I just have to be up early to talk to Dean Phillips before my first class.”

“Oh shit,” Sam chimed in, “I nearly forgot about that. What do you think he’s going to do?”

“I don’t know,” Steve admitted. “I’m pretty sure he’s not going to expel me, otherwise he would have done it immediately, right?”

Natasha nodded. “You’d have already been gone if he wanted to expel you. You’ll probably just get a lecture or something.”

Steve picked at the food on his tray, suddenly having lost his appetite. Having the school punish him for what had happened would look bad on his record and he knew his mother would be disappointed. He’d called her on Thanksgiving, before they’d gone into town, and hadn’t talked to her since. As far as he knew, she had no idea about anything that had happened and he wanted it to stay that way.

* * * *

Monday morning, after a night of tossing and turning, Steve found himself sitting in Dean Phillips office. He tried to sit still in his seat, but he couldn’t stop fidgeting.

“Steve, I have to say I’m very disappointed in you, in your actions on Thursday.” Dean Phillips folded his hands together on top of his desk and peered at Steve over his glasses.

“I’m sorry sir,” Steve said sincerely. He wanted to defend his actions, to explain to Dean Phillips what had happened, but he knew it wouldn’t matter.

“I’ve already talked with Mr. Barnes, James’ father, and he assured me that James was only an innocent bystander and that you were the instigator in the altercation.”

Steve nodded. He didn’t want to make any more trouble for Bucky, not with Dean Phillips or Bucky’s dad.

“This is quite the unusual incident. It didn’t take place on school grounds, but it caused quite a commotion in the local community and interrupted my holiday dinner.” Dean Phillips sighed, tapping his fingertips together. “I’m not going to expel you, but let’s just say you’re on probation.”

Steve pressed his lips together, fighting to stay composed. “Yes, sir,” he finally said.

“What that means, Steve, is that if you so much as step out of line, you _will_ be expelled. I think it goes without saying that you’re restricted to staying on campus. Your grades are good, your attendance is never an issue, so let’s keep those things that way. What you need to do is make sure that you don’t involve yourself in any more fights. Are we clear?”

“Yes, crystal clear sir,” Steve answered. He didn’t plan on getting in any more fights, but then again, he never _planned_ on fighting, it just seemed to happen.

* * * *

The next few weeks passed in a blur, full of homework and classes and Steve spent every free moment he had with Bucky. The weather was growing even colder and on the last Monday before winter break Steve woke up to find snow falling in heavy, white flakes and several inches already coating the ground.

Wiping the sleep from his eyes, Steve stepped away from the window. He turned to see Bucky emerging from the bathroom, a huge grin on his face.

“Snow, Steve! It’s snowing!” Bucky said, rushing over to the window.

“Yeah, I saw it. Why are you so excited about it?”

“Why aren’t you excited about it is a better question?” Bucky said, poking Steve in the ribs.

“Hey, quit it! So what, it snowed. What are you going to do, go out and play in it?”

“Yeah, Steve, that’s exactly what I’m going to do,” Bucky told him.

“You can’t, we have classes all day,” Steve protested.

“Nuh uh, Steve, not today. Classes are cancelled. C’mon, I’m gonna call Sam and see if him and Nat are up and we’ll all go outside.” Bucky grabbed the phone from the wall and punched in the extension for Natasha’s room. “Hey Nat,” he said after a moment. “You and Sam up for going outside in the snow with me and Steve?” Bucky’s grin grew bigger. “Awesome, we’ll meet you guys in the courtyard in twenty minutes.” He hung up the phone and turned to Steve, waggling his eyebrows. “C’mon Steve, bundle up, we’re gonna go build a snowman.”

Steve bundled up as he was told, grumbling at Bucky the entire time because he hadn’t even eaten breakfast yet.

“Let’s hurry up and start building a snowman, Steve,” Bucky told him, already trying to roll a large ball for the base. “I don’t want to keep you outside too long, can’t have you getting sick on me again.”

“Sure, so if we build a snowman I can go back inside?” Steve asked. His breath puffed in the air and the sun bouncing off the snow was blinding, but it was worth it to see Bucky enjoying himself so much.

Steve certainly hadn't been expecting the snowball to the back of the head. Mostly because he hadn’t even seen Sam and Natasha come outside. “Hey! What was that for,” he yelped as the cold snow filtered down the back of his neck, working its way under his scarf.

That was when he saw Natasha, shaking her head and pointing towards Sam. Steve twisted around to see Sam leaning against a tree behind Natasha, smirking. He tossed another snowball up and down in his hand, smiling broadly. When he saw Steve watching him, he pointed towards Bucky.

"Don't even think about it Sam!” Bucky called across the courtyard.  It was too late, Sam had already let the snowball fly. “Ow, shit that was cold!" Bucky cursed as the snowball hit square him in the face. "No fair, I wasn’t ready!"

"That was the point," Sam said with a smirk.

Bucky looked to Natasha for backup. Natasha just shrugged and shook her head. "Sorry James, you’re on your own, I’m not getting in the middle of a snowball fight between you and my boyfriend."

"Thanks, Nat. You're a great friend." Bucky said, scowling. He looked back at Sam just in time to duck a third snowball. "Oh, it’s on now."

"It is?" Sam asked, leaning down to scoop up more snow to form another snowball.

"Oh yeah, definitely." Bucky bend down, scooping up snow to make his own snowballs. "Payback is a bitch, Sam.”

Sam tossed the snowball he was holding, aiming slightly below Bucky’s face. It hit Bucky in the neck, snow falling into his coat. Sam laughed as Bucky let loose a string of curse words.

Sam took off running and Bucky followed him, both of them occasionally pausing to toss snowballs back and forth. Steve and Natasha watched, laughing at Sam and Bucky’s antics as Natasha helped Steve finish up the snowman.

After the fifth time they circled the courtyard, Sam was dizzy from laughter, stumbling in the snow and falling easily into a pile of show. He lay on his back laughing. “Hey Natasha, come help me up,” he shouted. Natasha trudged over to help him, holding out an arm for Sam to grab and pull himself up. Instead of getting up, though, Sam pulled Natasha down so that she fell on top of him, both of them laughing. "Gotcha," he said, shoving a handful of snow into Natasha’s face. She slugged him in the arm playfully, shaking the snow off her face onto his. “You’re going to pay for that later,” she informed Sam.

Steve was too busy smiling at his friends to notice Bucky sneaking up behind him. He pelted Steve with a snowball in the back. Steve was caught off guard and stumbled, landing on his knees in the snow. "Didn’t see that coming did you, Steve?" Bucky asked, hovering over Steve, holding back laughter.

"Just help me up, you jerk," Steve said. Bucky offered him an arm and Steve tugged on it, sending them both toppling into the snow. A strangled noise - one of both frustration and surprise - passed from Bucky’s lips as he landed on his back in the snow. It was Steve’s turn to laugh now, and he did, clutching at his sides as he tried to talk. “You should have seen your face,” he managed between bouts of laughter, “you looked so surprised!”

“Yeah, that’s because I wasn’t expecting you to play dirty, Steve,” Bucky said snow clinging to his dark eyelashes.

“That’s what you get for throwing the snowball at me in the first place.” Still chuckling, Steve took his gloved hand and brushed the snow off Bucky’s face before planting a quick peck on his cheek.

"Hey, you could at least give me a real kiss!" Bucky complained.

Steve dissolved into laughter again, and Bucky glared at him for several seconds before pulling him close by the front of his coat and muffling the laughter with a kiss. It took him a moment but Steve managed to stop laughing enough to kiss Bucky back, though it didn’t stop him from smiling.

When Bucky pulled away, they were both smiling, still only a few inches apart. Steve watched as Natasha and Sam scrambled up from the snow, Natasha pelting Sam with a barrage of snowballs. Sam sprinted away to avoid her flawless aim.

Steve reached for Bucky’s hand and spread out his other arm.

“What are you doing, Steve?”

“Making a snow angel,” Steve replied. “Duh!” He moved his free arm and the one joined with Bucky’s in unison making the wings on his snow angel. He knew he’d have to get up and out of the cold snow eventually, for now, however, he was content to lay in the fresh snow and stare up at the sky at the snowflakes still falling all around them.

As it turned out, Steve could only handle the cold for about an hour and a half. By then he was breathless and his face was freezing. As much as he protested, in the end he was glad he’d let Bucky drag him outside. As they stumbled back into the dorms, Steve wasted no time stripping off his jacket and scarf. He hung them on the back of Bucky’s door and stood shivering in his wet jeans.

“What are you waiting for, Steve, get out of those wet clothes before you make yourself sick,” Bucky scolded him. He’d already changed, making quick work of stripping off his wet clothing and putting on warm, dry clothes.

“I am, I am,” Steve said, fumbling to pull the soaking wet denim over his legs. “What are you, my mother?”

“Nah,” Bucky said, shaking his head. “But I remember how Louise used to nag me when I’d come in after playing in the snow.” He smiled sadly. “Hey, Stevie,” he said, “Your teeth are chattering.”

Steve’s limbs were numb with the cold, and sighed as he slid on his pajamas. He didn’t care that it was only mid-morning, there were no classes and these were the warmest pants he owned.  “Don’t call me Stevie!” he complained as he pulled one of Bucky’s sweatshirts over his head. It was too big on him, but it was warm and he’d been sleeping in it for the past few nights. He rolled his eyes and climbed into Bucky’s bed, curling up under the blankets, still shivering. “Are you gonna come warm me up or what? After all, you’re the one who made me go outside.”

“Yeah, and you had fun too!” Bucky laughed. “You stay there a minute, I’ll be right back.”

Steve burrowed further into the blankets, trying to warm up, and watched Bucky head out the door.

A few minutes later Bucky returned with two steaming mugs and another blanket wrapped around his shoulders. He handed Steve one of the mugs and set his own down on the nightstand to spread out the extra blanket on the bed. “Nat gave me the extra blanket and yes, the hot chocolate already has marshmallows in it; they’re underneath the whipped cream,” he explained as joined Steve under the blankets, pulling him close.

Steve reveled in the warmth Bucky had surrounded him with: the blankets, the steaming mug of hot chocolate that he curled his hands around gratefully, and Bucky’s body heat.  He took a sip of the hot chocolate, sighing delightedly. “This is so good, Bucky, thank you.”

“You’re welcome. That’s how Louise always made hot chocolate, it doesn’t get any better than that.”

“You really miss her, don’t you?” Steve said before taking another sip.

Bucky stared down at the mug in his hands. “Yeah, I try not to think about it too much, but I do.” He pressed a gentle kiss to Steve’s chilly nose. “Try and tell me you didn’t have a fun time,” he challenged, changing the subject.

Steve furrowed his brow and scoffed. “I’m cold in places that shouldn’t ever be this cold. I don’t know if I’ll ever regain feeling in my toes,” he said, planting his cold feet against Bucky’s shins.

“Ah! Jesus! Steve, your feet are like blocks of ice!” Bucky said, but he didn’t pull away and Steve melted deeper into his embrace. Bucky rolled his eyes and promptly placed a heated kiss upon the Steve’s lips. “You loved it,” he said firmly.

“Well I loved it until I got cold,” Steve told him truthfully.

“I’ll just have to make it up to you and warm you up,” Bucky told him, pressing another deep kiss against Steve’s lips.

* * * *

Winter break started the week before Christmas and the school was a frenzy of activity. Students were packing up; families were arriving to pick up some, while Clint would take others to the bus station or airport as needed.

Steve sat on Bucky’s bed, watching him pack a small suitcase. “So, Vail, huh?”

“Yeah, it’s a thing my parents do every year. We rent this lodge every year and a bunch of my parents friends all come and everyone goes skiing.” Bucky shrugged, folding a shirt and placing it into the suitcase. “Usually on Christmas Eve my mom makes me play the piano and everyone sings Christmas songs. Like it’s some bullshit Christmas movie.”

“Well at least you aren’t stuck staying here,” Steve said, smiling weakly.

Bucky turned, pushing Steve gently back onto the bed. “I’d rather stay here with you. You know I don’t have a choice in the matter.”

Steve nodded. He knew. Bucky’s dad had already been insistent that Bucky come along, even before the incident at Thanksgiving. Now it was non-negotiable. “Yeah, I guess it’ll just be me and Clint, that should be a blast.”

“So Sam’s really going to spend Christmas with Nat and her family?” Bucky asked, shaking his head.

“Yup, they left this morning, picked up in a big car with tinted windows.”

“I wish I’d had a chance to with Sam good luck,” Bucky said. “He’s gonna need it.”

“Why?” Steve asked, sitting up and cocking his head.

“Let’s just say that Nat’s family is interesting. They’re cool though, Sam will be fine. Nat will keep him in line.”

“What time are you leaving?” Steve asked.

Bucky leaned over to check the clock. “I’ve got about ten minutes to finish packing.” He shoved a few more things into the suitcase and closed it, clicking the latches shut.

Bucky shoved the suitcase aside and sat down next to Steve. “I didn’t get you anything for Christmas, didn’t really have a chance, but I’ll bring you something back from Vail. A snow globe or something.” Bucky smiled lopsidedly and pressed his forehead against Steve’s.

“Shit! I didn’t get you anything either, Bucky,” Steve said.

“S’okay Steve, it would have been a little hard with the whole ‘no going off campus’ thing and all.”

“Yeah, and now I’m stuck here all through break and still won’t be able to get you anything.”

“Steve,” Bucky said softly. “You don’t have to get me anything. Just… you, everything, that’s enough.” He kissed Steve, their lips slotting together briefly before pulling away. “I’d better go, if I’m not out there when the car comes I’ll never hear the end of it.” He stood up and pulled his coat on, hoisting his suitcase off the bed.

“You want me to come walk you out?” Steve asked, standing up and reaching for his own coat.

“Nah, don’t go out in the cold just to say goodbye to me. I don’t… I don’t wanna say goodbye again, down there in front of my parents.”

“Yeah, ok, sure,” Steve nodded, swallowing. He wasn’t sure he was ready to spend three weeks separated from Bucky.

“Don’t do anything stupid till I get back,” Bucky said opening the door to his dorm room.

Steve forced a small laugh. “How can I? You’re taking all the stupid with you.”

Steve watched from the doorway as Bucky headed down the hall. Bucky stopped three doors down and turned, waving to Steve. “Bye,” he said.

“Goodbye, Bucky.”

Bucky turned to keep walking, but just before he did, he smiled at Steve, his lips curving upwards and his eyes shining. “I love you,” he said before turning and walking through the doors at the end of the hall.

* * * *

“Why are you waking me you at the crack of dawn in Christmas morning,” Steve groaned.

“It's not the crack of dawn, it's almost ten o'clock, and I'm waking you up because the Disney Christmas parade is about to start.”

“Really, Clint? Really, the Christmas parade?” Steve rubbed his eyes, blinking at the RA standing in the doorway.

“Yes! We have to watch, it's tradition!”

Steve ran a hand though his hair. “How did you know I'd be in Bucky's room?” he asked.

“Because you’ve slept in here every night since he left,” Clint said, rolling his eyes at Steve.

It was true, Steve had tried to sleep in his own bed, thinking it would be less lonely than Bucky’s room, but after tossing and turning for hours, he gave up and ended up sleeping that first night in Bucky’s bed, surrounded by the familiar scents.

“C'mon, we’re watching on Natasha's big TV,” Clint informed Steve.

“You sure she's okay with that?” Steve asked, raising an eyebrow as he followed Clint down the hall.

“Yeah, it's fine. I asked her before she left and besides, Kate told me it was okay too, when I talked to her last night.”

“You talked to Kate last night?”

“Yeah, Clint said, blushing slightly, as they settled down to watch the parade in Natasha and Kate’s room. “She called to wish me a Merry Christmas.”

Steve didn't know what was going on between Kate and Clint, but if they got to use Natasha's big color TV, he was all for it. Clint's excitement was barely containable as the parade started. He kept his eyes glued to the screen the entire time and watching him was almost more entertaining than watching the parade itself. By the time the parade was over, Steve was wide-awake, all his grogginess gone.

Clint snapped off the television. “That was awesome. See, aren't you glad I made you watch with me?”

“Sure, thanks Clint.” Steve smiled. He did appreciate it; at least he wasn't spending Christmas day completely alone. “Now what do you usually do on Christmas?”

Clint laughed. “Now it's naptime. I'll sleep till dinner. I hope the dining hall makes a meal like last year.”

“What happened last year?”

“They went a little overboard, it was great. Ham, turkey, stuffing, corn, sweet potato casserole, Brussels sprouts, mashed potatoes, gravy, rolls, oh the rolls.” Clint went on for while, practically drooling over all the food. “And that's not even including dessert, Steve!” he finished.

“Wow, that really sounds great! Better than what I'd be eating at home.”

“Totally, so I'm gonna go rest up so I'm prepared. I'll see you at dinner,” Clint told him.

They both left Kate and Natasha's room, Clint returning to his own room to sleep and Steve heading back to the room he shared with Sam.

He picked up the phone and dialed his home number, knowing his mom would be getting ready to go to work. He could picture her standing in their small kitchen with the yellowed linoleum, wearing her nurse’s uniform, humming to herself as she got ready for work.

“Hello?” Sarah Rogers answered cheerfully.

“Hi Mom! Merry Christmas!”

“Steve, sweetheart! Merry Christmas. I miss you; I hate that we can't be together today,” she said sounding sad. “I hope it's not too awful, spending the holidays at school?”

Even if it had been awful, Steve wouldn't have told his mom that.  He knew how the hospital was this time of year and with money always being tight, his mom could pick up a lot of extra hours. If he had come home, they’d have hardly seen each other anyway. “No, it's fine Mom, really. I watched the parade earlier and there's a huge meal in the dining hall tonight. I'm not the only one here over break.”

“Oh, good! You make sure you eat enough! I don't want you coming home even skinnier than when you left! I'm sure whatever they serve, it'll be better than turkey sandwiches in the hospital cafeteria.”

Steve laughed. “Mom, anything would be better than that.”

Sarah laughed too, before breaking off into a sigh. “You got the package I sent you?”

“Yeah, thank you Mom, I always need new pencils and blank sketchbooks. I’m sorry I couldn't get you anything.”

“Sweetheart, don't worry, you just mail me some of your drawings, and keep doing well at school. I'm so proud of you, that's all the gift I need.”

Steve bit his lip, his mom still hadn't heard about what had happened over Thanksgiving and hopefully it would stay that way. “Sure Mom, I can do that.”

“Thank you sweetheart. I'd better run, I don't want to be late for my shift. I love you, Steve.”

“Love you too Mom, bye.”

“Goodbye, Merry Christmas,” she wished him again, before hanging up.

Steve hung the phone back on the wall and looked through the the box from his mother containing the new sketchbooks and pencils. He opened one and inhaled the crisp scent of new paper.

He started sketching, losing himself in the smooth scratch of pencil filing the blank page. He drew, filling several pages before the phone rang, interrupting him.

“Steve!” Bucky’s voice came across the line. “Hey, good, I caught you! I tried my room first, but when you didn't pick up I figured you'd be in your room. What happened, you get sick of sleeping in my bed?”

“I was in my room talking to my mom and then I started drawing,” Steve said, avoiding the question. “How’s your Christmas so far?” Steve asked him.

“What? Sorry Steve, I can’t hear you, there’s too many people talking.”

“I asked how your Christmas was so far.”

“Hang on, lemme take the phone into the closet. I’m pretty sure the cord will stretch.”

There was a pause and Steve heard the sounds of what must have been Bucky shoving things around in the closet. He wondered if the closet was full of coats, boxes, or maybe something else. What kind of things did you keep in a closet in a lodge in Vail? Maybe ski equipment, Steve decided.

“There, that’s better,” Bucky said. “So, what have you been up to without me?”

“Not much, Clint woke me up early to watch the parade and I talked to my mom for awhile. It’s really boring here, almost everyone is gone and I miss you,” Steve said, the words spilling out of him.

“I miss you too, Steve. I’ll be back soon though.”

Steve sniffled, he hadn’t realize just how much he was missing Bucky until now.“Yeah, what day are you coming back again?”

Bucky sighed. “It’s supposed to be the Saturday before break ends.”

“Good,” Steve said. “Then we’ll have the weekend to catch up.”

“Yeah, Steve, we will. A lot of catching up.”

Steve cleared his throat, trying not to think too hard about what Bucky was implying. “So what have you been doing? Lots of skiing? Anything else fun?”

“Just the same as every year. Yeah, a lot of skiing. We’re going out again tomorrow. My mom made me play piano last night, everyone was drunk by the end of it and singing off key but I had to keep playing. It was bad.”

Steve laughed. “Sorry, that’s not funny.”

“Yeah, it kind of is,” Bucky said as he joined Steve in laughter.

There was a muffled thumping and Bucky sighed again. “Hey, Steve, someone’s pounding on the closet door, I’d better go.”

“Sure, we’ll see each other soon, right?”

“Absolutely, and I’ll call you on New Year’s Eve, okay?”

 “Sure. Merry Christmas, Bucky.”

“Merry Christmas to you too, Steve.” Bucky paused. “Bye,” he said reluctantly.

“Bye,” Steve said softly as he hung up the phone.

He was counting down the days until he would see Bucky again.


	9. Will you stay?

By the time a week had passed and it was New Year’s Eve, Sam and Natasha had come back to school. Steve was glad to have someone else besides Clint to hang around with, even if the person he really wanted to spend time with was Bucky.

Natasha had talked about throwing a party for New Year’s Eve; there were enough kids back in the dorms to have made it worthwhile, but ultimately she had decided against it. It may have had something to do with Sam’s repeated protests of not being ready for another party after the Romanoff family Christmas party. He wouldn’t say much about his time with Natasha and her family, but Sam and Natasha seemed closer than ever.

In the end, the three of them decided to watch the ball drop on TV. They’d had a big debate over where they should watch. It made sense to hang out in Natasha’s room; her TV was far superior the one Sam and Steve had, but Bucky had promised to call Steve on New Year’s Eve and he wasn’t going to miss the call.

So they hung out in Sam and Steve’s room, just the three of them, with a huge variety of snacks and drinks. When it was nearly midnight and Bucky still hadn’t called, Steve began to worry out loud.

“Why hasn’t he called yet?”

“Steve, I’m sure he will. He promised, right? James always keeps his word,” Natasha assured him.

“Maybe he’s just waiting until after midnight,” Sam suggested.

It wasn’t long before the countdown started on television. Sam and Natasha counted along with Dick Clark in Times Square.

“ _Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one…Happy New Year!_ ”

On the TV the thousands of people gathered in Times Square celebrated and kissed surrounded by massive amounts of falling confetti. Sam threw his arms around Natasha and pulled her into a big hug, their lips meeting in a kiss.

When they broke apart, Steve smiled at his friends. “Happy New Year, guys.”

“Happy New Year, Steve,” Sam said.

“Don’t worry, he’ll call,” Natasha promised. “He probably just fell asleep or something.”

“You sleeping here tonight?” Sam asked.

“Yeah, I mean, I figured Bucky would call me here… or his room.” Steve realized why Sam was asking and blushed. “Oh, yeah, you know I’ll just sleep in Bucky’s room tonight,” he said, standing up from his bed.

“Steve, stay,” Natasha said, reaching for his arm.

Steve shook his head. “No, it’s fine Natasha, really.” He saw how happy his friends looked together and put on a smile for their sake. “Happy New Year,” he said again.

* * * *

New Year’s Eve turned into New Year’s Day and Bucky still hadn’t called. Steve had gone from worried to concerned to panicking. He refused to leave Bucky’s room for anything, in case he missed a call from Bucky. New Year’s Eve was on a Thursday and Sam finally forced him to come out on Monday afternoon, dragging him to the dining hall for lunch.

“He’s probably hanging out with some hot ski instructor,” Steve lamented. “Or maybe he just forgot about the fact that he promised to call me.”

 “Steve, chill. I’m sure he’s got a really good reason for not calling. Besides, he’ll be home in a few more days. If Natasha says there has to be a good reason he hasn’t called you, then there’s a good reason,” Sam said.

“Yeah, but Natasha said she was sure he’d call on New Year’s Eve too.” Steve pouted, looking at the lunch choices. He grabbed a ham sandwich and a banana and plunked them down on his tray.

He followed Sam to a table and forced himself to take a bite of his sandwich. “Sam, what if something bad happened to him?” Steve swallowed dryly, reaching for his carton of milk.

“What are you talking about? You mean with his dad or something?”

“Yeah, what if he changed his mind, what if he’s sending Bucky to military school?”

“Steve, I’m pretty sure that Bucky would come back for all his instruments and stuff. Even if he was going to military school, and I’m sure he’s not, he’d still let you know.”

Steve picked up his banana and peeled it slowly. “I guess so,” he said with a sigh. He took a bite of the banana and put it back down. Steve shoved his tray away mostly untouched. “I’m going back to our room,” he informed Sam.

Steve wasn’t sure he could spend another minute in Bucky’s room, so he retreated to his own bed. It was barely past noon and all he wanted to do was go to sleep.

* * * *

The next few days passed slowly. Steve spent more time sleeping than doing anything else. By Saturday, the day Bucky promised he would return to school, Steve still hadn’t heard anything. The last weekend of winter break passed with agonizing slowness and when classes resumed on the following Monday, there was still no word from Bucky. There was no sign of him either.

“Steve, you _have_ to go to your classes today,” Sam told him. “I know you're worried about Bucky, but if you skip a class, Dean Phillips is going to use that against you.”

Steve knew Sam was right, but his stomach was in knots and he couldn't shake the feeling that something had happened to Bucky. “Something's not right, he said he would call and he didn't. He said he'd be back early and he wasn't. Now he's missing the first day of classes after break and no one seems to know what's going on.”

“I'm sure there's an explanation,” Sam said. “There has to be some logical reason, like maybe they got hit with a ton of snow up in Vail and they couldn't leave when they were supposed to.”

“Maybe.”

Steve knew he didn't have a choice, not if he wanted to stay at Lakewood. He dressed reluctantly in his khakis and a white t-shirt before throwing his favorite blue sweater over top. He grabbed his backpack and headed for his first class. His schedule was heavy on Mondays and today was no exception.

* * * *

At lunchtime, he met with Sam and Natasha in the dining hall, but it felt odd sitting there without Bucky.

“Natasha, would you please say something to snap Steve out of his funk?” Sam asked.

Natasha was being unusually quiet, even for her. “I'm a little worried too, Sam. Sorry, Steve.” She screwed up her face in half a frown. “I think after my last class I'm going to call my parents, maybe they've heard something.”

Steve had forgotten that Natasha and Bucky had become friends because of their parents moving in the same circles. “Thank you, Natasha. I appreciate it,” he said giving her a small smile.

* * * *

Hours later, Steve was struggling to concentrate on his homework when Natasha knocked on his door.

He'd gotten up at the sound of the knock, surprised to see her standing there. She never knocked, but then again, Sam wasn't there at the moment. Her unusually somber expression sent a chill of fear through Steve and he stepped aside so she could come inside.

“You know something, something about Bucky.” It wasn't a question, not quite, because suddenly Steve wasn't sure he wanted to hear her answer.

Natasha nodded. “Sit down, Steve,” she urged. Steve backed up until he felt the edge of his bed against the backs on his legs and then sat down.  He looked up at Natasha who was standing there, wringing her hands.

“It's not good, Steve,” she said simply.

“Did they send him to military school? What happened? Tell me!” Steve said, his voice cracking with fear.

“Steve... there was an accident. James—”

“Oh God, oh no, is he...” There was a sick taste in Steve's mouth and he couldn't continue, couldn't say the words.

Natasha shook her head vehemently. “No! He's okay, I mean, he's not okay, but he's not... you know. He's not _dead,_ Steve.”

“Oh, thank God.” Relief flooded Steve for a split second before he thought to ask, “What happened? What's wrong with him?”

Natasha sat down on Sam’s bed, opposite from Steve. “Apparently he was skiing and he hit a tree. It could have been a lot worse. He really could have died if he'd hit it head on. But he smashed into a tree going downhill and he broke his arm, Steve.”

“Oh, okay... a broken arm, that's not horrible, that happens all the time,” Steve said slowly.

“It's not just broken, Steve. My mom talked to James' mom and his arm isn't just broken, he smashed _every_ bone in it.”

Steve felt like the breath had been knocked out of him. “Is he… I mean, how is he taking it?”

Natasha leaned forward, elbows resting on her knees. “From what his mom said to my mom, not well. He’s been in a lot of pain, they kept him in the hospital twice as long as normal. I guess he had to have surgery, they put metal pins and plates into his arm in a few places.”

Steve’s chest was tight, too tight, and he reached for his inhaler, taking puffs of the medicine before he was able to speak again. “Can… can I call him? Do you think he’d want to talk to me?”

Natasha shook her head sadly. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea, Steve. When I talked to my mom about it, I mentioned that I was thinking of calling him and she said that he’s pretty much refusing to talk to anyone. I don’t think you want to call his house and end up chatting with his father instead.”

 “Is he coming back to Lakewood?”

“I think so,” she said softly. “I’m just not sure when.”

* * * *

It was another week before Bucky returned to Lakewood Academy. Steve still hadn’t talked to him, not since Christmas Day. He only found out that Bucky was back because he tried to stop by Bucky’s room after his classes were over for the day, to retrieve one of his sketchbooks, and found the door locked.

Steve knew he hadn’t left the door locked the last time he’d been in the room; barely anyone locked their dorm room doors, even Bucky.

He knocked at the door, hoping that Bucky would answer. There was no response and Steve was certain he was hearing faint music coming from inside the room, so he knocked again. Steve stood at the door and knocked a third time but there still wasn’t a response. He was still standing in the hallway, in front of Bucky’s door, when Clint walked past.

“He’s in there,” Clint announced.

“He is? Bucky is?” Steve tried not to sound too excited.

“Yeah, he got dropped off earlier. I helped bring his things to his room. He went to the infirmary first thing, then came straight back to his room and hasn’t come out since.”

“So you saw him? Did you talk to him? Did he say anything?” Steve asked.

Clint shook his head. “Nah. He didn’t say anything to anyone. He didn’t look so hot either. He looked thinner and his left arm was in some huge, crazy cast. Like he’s covered in plaster from the shoulder down.”

Steve let Clint’s words sink in, slumping against the wall next to Bucky’s door. Clint stood in the hallway a little longer, glancing at Steve, then Bucky’s door, then Steve again. He opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something, but then didn’t. Clint shook his head slowly before walking off muttering to himself.

Steve stood up, drawing in a breath and knocked at Bucky’s door one more time, as hard as he could. “Bucky, it’s Steve,” he called out as loud as he could. He put his face close to the door, hoping Bucky would hear him. “Please let me in. I want to see you.”

There was a soft thud from behind the door and then Bucky’s voice filled Steve’s ears. “Go away.” He sounded tired, tired and angry.

“No, Bucky, I’m here. I want to see you, please. I would have come sooner if I’d known you were back. I’m really sorry, Bucky. I wanted to call you but—”

“Go away, Steve. Just go. I don’t need your pity. I don’t need you. Go away.”

“Bucky, I’m not here to give you pity, I’m here because I love you. I want to help if I can.”

“You don’t love me, no one fucking loves me. I’m damaged goods.” Bucky spit out his words, loud enough that Steve could hear the venom in his voice from the other side of the door. “I don’t need your goddamned help. Just go away.”

Steve flinched at the sound of Bucky’s words, drawing back from the door slightly. The music inside suddenly grew louder, the sound almost deafening even in the hallway. He pulled back from the door and rushed down the hallway back to his room with Bucky’s words ringing in his ears. Thankfully, the room was empty; Sam was off somewhere practicing for an upcoming show. Steve flung himself onto his bed and let the flood of emotions take over.

Lips trembling, Steve bent over, hugging his knees and folding in on himself. He tried to hold back his sobs, tried to stop the tears from falling, but he couldn’t. Hot tears coursed down his cheeks, falling hard and fast and a keening sound escaped his lips as he rocked back and forth. His chest was tight, he couldn’t breathe, and Steve didn’t care. He didn’t care that his lungs burned as he sobbed. Bucky’s words had stung, had physically hurt. Steve tried to understand why Bucky didn’t want to see him, why he had told him he didn’t want him, didn’t need him. Steve didn’t care about Bucky’s arm, about how damaged he might be. Maybe Bucky _didn’t_ need him. But Steve needed Bucky.

* * * *

Steve was still huddled on his bed, sniffling miserably when Sam and Natasha came into the room a few hours later.

“Steve, we didn’t see you at dinner,” Sam said. Steve peered at him through hazy eyes, watching as Sam stopped in his tracks. “Steve, what’s wrong? Were you crying?”

Natasha came over and sat at the foot of Steve’s bed. “I guess you saw that James is back.” Her eyes scanned Steve’s face. “Did he talk to you? Would he let you in?”

Steve felt the bed dip under Sam’s weight as he came over to sit next to Natasha. “Steve, what happened?”

“He wouldn’t let me in. He has the door locked. He told me to go away, told me that he didn’t need my help and that no one loves him,” Steve said flatly.

Natasha brought her hand up to Steve’s back, rubbing it lightly. “Steve, he’s going to take some time to come around. He’s in a lot of pain still. I know that he didn’t mean the things he said to you.”

Steve jerked away from Natasha’s touch. “I don’t know, he sounded pretty convincing. He sounded like he never wanted to see me again.”

Natasha stood up, placing her hands on her hips. “You listen to me, Steve Rogers. You’re just as stubborn and hardheaded as James is. I’ll try talking to him, but don’t you give up on him. He needs your stubbornness. You need to push until he lets you back in. I told you before Steve, he needs you. You’re good for him.”

* * * *

Despite Natasha talking to him, Bucky still refused to let Steve into his room and wouldn’t talk to him anymore than what amounted to occasionally shouting at him through the door when he wasn’t playing music at a deafening volume. Steve took to camping outside of Bucky’s door when he wasn’t going to class, hoping to see him, hoping that Bucky would take pity on him and let him inside. Clint drew the line at letting him sleep in the hallway, so every night Steve would say goodnight to Bucky through the door and then shuffle off to try to sleep in his bed.

Since Bucky wasn’t coming out of his room, he had takeout delivered nearly every day. Sometimes pizza, other times Chinese food. Bucky must have gone through every takeout place in the yellow pages because during the first week Bucky was back at school, Steve never saw the same delivery driver twice.

Whenever someone would appear bearing takeout, Steve would hope to catch a glimpse of Bucky answering the door, but he never saw more than a hand reaching through the door to hand an envelope of money to the delivery driver. Some of them would regard Steve with curiosity, sitting on the floor of the hallway next to Bucky’s door. Some of them smiled or tried talking to him, but Steve only wanted to talk to Bucky and eventually most of them stopped trying to make conversation.

* * * *

This went on for another week before Natasha grew frustrated. Steve had given up trying to argue, coax or cajole Bucky into coming out, but he did what Natasha had asked and channeled his stubbornness to talk to Bucky through the door, to spend every free moment when he wasn’t in class or asleep waiting outside Bucky’s door.

“James,” Natasha called through the door. “If you won’t open the door, I’m going to open it for you.”

Steve scrambled up off the floor. “What are you going to do?”

“I’ll pick the lock. I should have done it a week ago,” she said.

“Do you need me to do anything to help?” Steve asked, curious about how Natasha knew a way to pick a lock.

“Go down to the dining hall and get something healthy for James to eat. I’ll bet he hasn’t had anything to eat besides takeout since he got back.”

Steve practically ran down to the dining hall and grabbed the first healthy food he saw, an orange.

When he got back upstairs, Natasha had already unlocked the door.

“I talked to him a little bit, Steve,” she said. “He wouldn’t let me inside though. I mean, he knows I have the door open though.”

“Do you think he’ll let me come in?” Steve asked, holding the orange in his cupped palm.

“You’ve got to try.”

* * * *

Bucky’s room was dark and even more cluttered than usual. Beer bottles, pizza boxes and Chinese takeout containers littered the floor. The bedside table held an overflowing ashtray and a several more bottles in various stages of emptiness. Bucky was sprawled out on his back, his right arm slung over his eyes. He was shirtless and Steve could see the white plaster of his cast, like Clint said, covering Bucky from shoulder down, over his entire left arm.

“Shut the fucking door,” he croaked.

Steve did as he was told, closing the door behind him. He waited a moment while his eyes adjusted to the lack of light.

“I’m worried about you Bucky. When was the last time you had anything besides pizza and beer?”

“Fuck you,” Bucky mumbled.

“You’re going to end up with scurvy or some shit. Look,” Steve said, reaching into his pocket, “I brought you an orange.”

“Not gonna eat an orange. Leave me alone.” Bucky hadn’t moved an inch, hadn’t even taken his arm off his face to look at Steve.

Steve sat on the edge of the bed and began to peel the orange. He looked around for a trash can to throw away the peel. Finding none, he shoved the peel into his deep pockets. When he had peeled and separated the orange into segments he took one between his fingers and held it near Bucky’s face.

“Smells good, doesn’t it?”

Bucky huffed in response. Steve didn’t know whether that was an agreement or resignation. Nudging the piece of orange against Bucky’s lips, he cajoled, “C’mon, just eat it. Please?”

Bucky opened his mouth and took the orange slice from Steve’s fingers. “Fine,” he said around a mouthful of citrus, “if it’ll get you to shut up, I’ll eat it.” He swallowed loudly, lifting his arm just enough to glare at Steve through hooded eyes.

Steve bit his lip, desperately wanting to say something to Bucky. He held out another slice of orange to Bucky, wondering if he’d have to feed the whole thing to him.

Bucky sighed and flung his arm away from his face. “Steve, I’m not an infant. I said I’d eat it.” He pushed himself up using his good arm. He winced slightly as he adjusted himself into a sitting position.

Steve held out the orange, presenting Bucky with his outstretched palm. Bucky reached out, taking a segment of orange between his fingertips. His fingers brushing against Steve’s open hand sent shivers up his spine. He’d missed Bucky, missed his touch. Steve looked at Bucky, smiling softly, hoping to see a smile in response, but when their eyes met, Bucky’s gaze was flat and emotionless.

 Steve shifted his focus to Bucky’s nightstand. Next to the discarded bottles and overflowing ashtray were several orange prescription bottles. Steve could tell from the names on some of the bottles that Bucky was on painkillers.

“You keeping track of how many pills you’re taking?” Steve asked, looking at the mostly empty bottles. It looked like Bucky was taking way too many of them.

“They gave me pills for pain, so I take ‘em when I’m in pain, Steve. Which is all the fucking time. And then I have pills to counteract the way the pain pills make me loopy, pills to stop the shaking those pills cause. I’m like a fucking pharmacy,” Bucky rasped, reaching for another slice of orange.

Steve kept quiet until the orange was gone. He curled his fingers against his palm, feeling the stiff stickiness on his skin. “I guess I should go now,” he said, his heart dropping in his chest as he stood up to go.

Bucky’s right hand caught his arm before he got more than halfway off the bed. “Do you want to leave, Steve?”

Steve looked at Bucky and swallowed against the lump in his throat. “No, I don’t want to leave. I want to stay, Bucky. Say I can stay.”

Bucky laughed bitterly. “Why? Would you want to stay with me?”

“Because I love you, Bucky. Because I missed you every day you were gone. Because I’ve been practically living out in the hallway since you came back, begging you to let me in.”

“You’re a stubborn little shit, aren’t you?” Bucky asked.

“No more stubborn than you are,” Steve told him. Bucky’s hand was still on his arm and Steve didn’t mind. He was glad for Bucky’s touch.

Bucky’s grip slackened. “Will you stay?” he finally asked.

“Of course,” Steve said.

Bucky nodded and squirmed back down on the bed. “Steve, ‘m tired. Can you… can you lay with me?”

Steve nodded, blinking back tears. “Yeah,” he said, his voice breaking. “Yeah, Bucky. I’ll stay.”

Bucky rolled onto his right side, his left arm lying awkwardly on his side. Steve gingerly climbed onto the bed, trying not to jostle or bump Bucky’s arm. The enormous cast prevented him from wrapping his arms around Bucky, but he pulled himself as close as he could to Bucky.

It took too many long minutes, of Bucky trying to even out his breathing, trying to find a position that was comfortable enough with his injuries. Eventually though, Bucky’s breaths came evenly, inhaling and exhaling steadily. Steve waited until he was sure that Bucky was asleep before allowing himself to relax, his eyes falling closed and sleep finding him easily.

* * * *

Bucky fell asleep easily, but Steve soon discovered that he didn't sleep easy. Bucky tossed and turned, sweating and moaning in his sleep. Steve wasn't sure what to do other than murmur quietly to him as he held Bucky the best he could, his body pressed against Bucky's shaking form.

Morning came agonizingly slow and Steve wondered if this was how his mother felt all those nights she had stayed up when him when he was so frequently sick as a child.

Bucky woke with a start, jolting against Steve, the back of his head colliding with Steve's nose hard enough to make him see stars.

“No!” Bucky shouted, trying to sit up.

Steve scrambled up, grabbing his nose. “Fuck, ouch!” He hadn't meant to swear, but it had hurt like hell. "Bucky, it's okay, you're okay," he said more quietly.

Bucky blinked, his eyes still dull and flat. “Steve? What are you doing here?”

“You don't remember? I brought you an orange last night, you asked me to stay?”

Bucky furrowed his brow, trying to remember. “How did you get in? I know I had the door locked.”

“Natasha. I think she picked the lock. That's what she said she was going to do, anyway, I didn’t actually see her do it,” Steve admitted.

“Nat, of course,” Bucky said shaking his head. “I should have known.”

“You want me to bring you breakfast or something?” Steve asked, hoping that maybe now things might get back to normal, as normal as they could be.

Bucky paled. “No.”

“Are you sure? I could bring you cereal or maybe eggs, or some waffles?” Bucky seemed to be turning green, so Steve stopped, adding lamely, “Or maybe another orange?”

Bucky shook his head, lips pressed together tightly. Steve could see Bucky's body go tense. He shoved Steve aside forcefully, knocking him to the floor and bolted from the bed clumsily. “Leave, Steve. Just go,” he said in a strangled voice as he ran into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

Steve picked himself up and stood helplessly in the middle of the room. The sound of Bucky retching filled the room and Steve wanted to help, wanted to comfort him, but if Bucky didn't want him there... Steve didn't want to press his luck, so he left, heading back to his own room to shower and get ready for his classes.


	10. Everything hurts

When his classes were over for the day Steve found himself back in front of Bucky’s door. The room was silent, no loud, angry rock music blaring from Bucky’s stereo. He shifted his weight from foot to foot, chewing on his bottom lip. He wanted to knock, wanted to check on Bucky, but he was afraid that he’d be met with shouting and swearing. He didn’t feel right about leaving Bucky alone, not after seeing the way Bucky was.

Making a fist, Steve reached out and rapped on the door.

“Who is it?”

“It’s Steve, can I come in?”

There was a long pause and then, “The door’s open.”

Steve turned the door handle and opened the door cautiously. Bucky’s room was still as cluttered and messy as it had been earlier that morning when Steve had left. But Bucky was sitting up, in front of his keyboard. He was still shirtless and Steve had to force himself not to stare at the huge cast he sported.

The fingers on Bucky’s right hand danced over the keys, but the keyboard wasn’t turned on and it made no sounds other than a faint tapping. Bucky barely seemed to notice as Steve sat down on the end of the bench where Bucky was sitting. He watched Bucky’s fingers playing silently before he reached up to flip the keyboard’s power switch into the on position.

Suddenly loud notes filled the air and Bucky jerked his hand away. “Why’d you do that,” he asked softly.

“A better question is why were you playing without any sound to begin with?” Steve replied.

“It doesn’t sound right, not with only one hand.  I don’t even know why my parents sent me back to this fucking dump. It’s not like I’ll ever be able to play the piano again. Or the guitar or the drums or anything else.” Bucky’s voice was shaky and he sounded close to tears.

Steve wanted to reassure Bucky, to comfort him. “You could still learn to do those things one handed, well piano and drums maybe. The drummer from Def Leppard only has one arm and look at him; he didn’t let it stop him from getting back behind the drums.” Steve was proud to have remembered a relevant example.

 Bucky leaned back on the bench, his left arm held awkwardly at his side. “So what are you saying Steve, in two years I can go play drums in some rock band?” he asked bitterly.

“No, Bucky, jeez! I was trying to make you feel better, you don’t have to be a dick about it,” Steve shot back without thinking. As the words left his mouth, he froze, wondering just how Bucky would react.

Bucky laughed, a real, genuine laugh. “Thank you, Steve,” he said after a minute. “Leave it to you to try and make me feel better and then call me a dick.”

Steve didn’t know what to make of that, but he was glad to hear the sound of Bucky’s laughter.

After a minute, Bucky placed his fingers on the keyboard again. “You ever play, Steve?”

Steve shook his head, “No, art student, remember? Not music.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “You never even had a music class, c’mon. I know you were playing the recorder with all those other little kids.”

“Sure, yeah, in second grade. But a recorder didn’t really prepare me to play the piano,” Steve said, chuckling.

“Put your hands there,” Bucky said, pointing towards a white key on the keyboard.

Steve did as Bucky instructed. “Now what?”

Bucky’s fingers found a different spot on the keyboard and he started to pick out a melody. “Now, press those two keys. One at a time, alternate them,” he coached. “Press that one twice, then the other one twice and keep going back and forth.”

Steve did what Bucky told him, finding a rhythm. Soon Bucky’s hand picked out a small tune and after a moment, Steve recognized what they were playing. “I recognize this song!” he said, grinning at Bucky. “That’s the song you were playing the first time I ever saw you.”

Bucky smiled back at Steve, a small smile, but it said so much. “Yeah, Steve. Not quite concert pianist level. But hey, you come with me and we can plink out Chopsticks or something.”

Steve’s stomach growled. “Bucky, I gotta eat something. You think maybe you want to eat?”

Bucky sighed. “You’re gonna make me, aren’t you?”

“You could come to the dining hall with me. I know Nat and Sam would be glad to see you.”

Bucky got to his feet, standing unsteadily. “You think I’m ready to go out, Steve?” He gestured to his bare chest, sweatpants and bare feet.

Steve looked at Bucky. “Well, I guess the dining hall might frown on you showing up shirtless, wearing only sweatpants and being barefoot.”

“It’s a little hard to get dressed with only one good arm,” Bucky said angrily.

“I can help you,” Steve offered. He was ready for Bucky to refuse, to throw him out of his room, but he did none of those things. He just sighed and nodded.

“You wanna put on regular pants and a shirt and your boots?” Steve asked, casting his eyes around the room until he found Bucky’s boots.

“You’re gonna have to dress me like I’m a fucking baby, Steve. But yeah, I’d like that. I’d like to go out to the dining hall and see Sam and Nat.”

Steve found a clean short sleeved t-shirt and brought it over to Bucky. “Here, sit on the bed.”

Bucky sat on the edge of the bed and Steve stood between his bent knees. He slid one side of the shirt over Bucky’s cast and when that was on all the way, he remembered the way his mom used to dress him when he was sick and lethargic and took care to help Bucky get the shirt over his head the same way before sliding his right arm into the sleeve.

“You want to wear jeans or keep the sweats?” Steve asked.

“No way am I wearing boots with sweatpants,” Bucky scoffed.

“Okay then, jeans it is,” Steve said. He looked at the pile of clothing on Bucky’s floor he turned back to Bucky. “You have any clean pairs?”

Bucky tipped his chin towards the dresser. Steve pulled open the bottom drawer and found a pair of jeans.  He brought them over to Bucky and laid them on the bed. “Okay, so um. I guess we have to take off your sweatpants first,” Steve said.

“Well, they weren’t my first choice but it’s a little hard to do up jeans with only one hand.” Bucky scowled, looking at his cast as he stood up.  “You have any idea how long it took me to even get these on?”

“Bucky, don’t worry, ‘s alright. I’m here to help, if you’ll let me.”

“Steve, I gotta say, when I thought about coming back from winter break and you undressing me, this isn’t what I had in mind,” Bucky said slowly, shaking his head.

Steve bit back a chuckle. “No, me either, Bucky.” He tried not to think of the smooth feeling of Bucky’s hips against his fingertips as he slid the elastic waistband of the sweatpants down. Once they were past Bucky’s hips, they fell to the floor and Bucky stepped out of them. “Sit back on the bed.”

Bucky sat down and Steve held the pants so he could put each foot in the corresponding leg of the jeans. When he’d done that, he stood up and Steve pulled the jeans up over his legs and hips. It was strangely intimate and yet impersonal, because there wasn’t anything erotic about helping Bucky get dressed, and yet, just being this close to him, it was a little too much for Steve. He fumbled with the button and zipper and stepped back as quickly as he could. “There, now socks and your boots, right?”

Bucky nodded and directed Steve back to the dresser for a clean pair of socks. He sat on the bed and passively let Steve kneel and help him with the socks and then the boots.

Steve laced Bucky’s boots slowly, not used to looping and tying the long laces in the tall boots. “All set, Bucky,” he said, pushing himself to his feet. He stepped back and admired his handiwork. “Not bad.” Steve smiled. “You want me to comb your hair? It’s a little messy.”

Bucky shook his head. “Nah. Thanks anyway, Steve. You ready to go?”

Steve nodded, smiling again. He really was hungry but at that moment he’d have gone anywhere with Bucky, anywhere at all.

“Then let’s get this shit show on the road,” Bucky said, striding towards the door.

* * * *

Steve tried not to let his nervousness show as they walked into the dining hall together. He saw Sam and Natasha already at their usual table and for a second things felt more normal than they had in weeks. That illusion was shattered when he turned to Bucky and saw the huge white cast that encased his arm.

“So, what do you feel like eating, Bucky?” Steve asked, trying to maintain the sense of normalcy.

“Ah, I dunno,” Bucky said screwing up his mouth into a half a frown. “Maybe just some soup?”

Steve peered over the foods they were serving. “Soup sounds good. There’s chicken noodle and there’s broccoli cheddar, which one?” Steve moved towards the food bar, grabbing a tray.

“Chicken noodle,” Bucky said, trailing behind Steve. “You don’t have to carry my tray too, Steve. I think I could manage.”

“Nah, don’t worry. I’ve got this, Bucky.” Steve said. He grabbed Bucky a bowl of chicken noodle soup and a second bowl of soup and a sandwich for himself. “What do you want to drink?”

They both chose drinks and Steve carried the tray over to the table where Sam and Natasha were sitting.

“Hey guys,” Steve said as he slid the tray onto the table. He sat down and set Bucky’s soup in front of the empty chair next to his.

“Hey Steve, Bucky,” Sam said, smiling cheerfully.

Bucky hung back, pulling out his chair slowly before sitting down.

“James,” Natasha said, smiling. “You look good.”

“No, Nat. I look like shit. Feel like it too. But I’m here.” He poked his spoon into his soup, squinting at the vegetables floating in it.

“Well, aren’t you a ray of sunshine, James,” Natasha said, glaring at him over her dinner tray.

“You want me to be happy? What the hell do I have to be happy about, Nat? Because my arm is smashed and useless, but at least I didn’t die?” Bucky threw down his spoon, heedless of the soup splashing onto the table.

“No, James, that’s not—”

“Not what you meant, huh? That it shouldn’t make me angry?” Bucky’s voice was a harsh whisper, his face twisted into a scowl. “That I don’t have a right to be angry, because, hey, at least I didn’t die? I wish I had died, Nat. Then I wouldn’t be here dealing with this shit. Of being dependent on everyone else to do anything. You know, Steve had to fucking dress me before we came here? Because I couldn’t even put on my own jeans, or lace up my own boots. So yeah, I think my anger is justified. Because it hurts, Nat. It hurts. Everything hurts.”

Steve stared down at his own soup, afraid to meet Bucky’s eyes. He glanced up at Sam, who seemed to be wavering between pity and embarrassment.

“Don’t you have all kinds of painkillers, Bucky?” Sam asked quietly.

“Yeah, plenty of pills, don’t I, Steve?” Bucky asked.

Steve nodded, his eyes flicking up to Bucky’s face. Unshed tears shone in his eyes and Steve’s chest tightened.

“The pills don’t help, they don’t stop me from being sad. And being sad fucking hurts. It’s not just my arm, I can feel it in my legs, my jaw, my head, everywhere. It hurts my chest the most because it literally feels like there’s something heavy sitting on my chest. Like how Steve must feel when he’s having an asthma attack. But I can’t fix it with an inhaler.” Bucky looked at Steve, then Natasha and Sam and shook his head. He abruptly shoved his chair back from the table and stood up. His chair clattered to the ground as Bucky turned away from the table and stomped off.

Steve stood up, ready to go after Bucky. “I’m sorry guys, I thought… I thought it would be good for him to come out of his room.”

Natasha reached out and grabbed his wrist, holding him in place. “Steve, sit back down. Give him a minute to breathe. He’ll be alright.”

Steve sat back down. He’d lost his appetite so he busied himself by picking up Bucky’s chair and trying to mop up the mess Bucky had made with a handful of napkins. He toyed nervously with the napkins, shredding bits and piling them on his tray.

“Steve you should eat something,” Sam told him.

“I just want to go see how Bucky is,” Steve said, balling the rest of the napkin up in his fist.

“Just finish your sandwich, Steve, then go after him,” Natasha said, prying the crumpled napkin out of Steve’s fist.

“You tell me to be persistent, to not give up on him and now you’re telling me to wait, what the hell am I supposed to do?” Steve asked Natasha, his voice rising as he grew hysterical.

“Steve, I’m sorry. I don’t know what to tell you to do,” Natasha lamented. “I thought I knew how to handle James, I thought I knew how much to push him, that he needed to be pushed… now I’m not so sure.”

Steve picked up a quarter of his sandwich and took a bite, swallowing dryly. He forced himself to eat half the sandwich before he picked up his tray and tossed the rest of the food in the trash. Without saying another word to Natasha or Sam, he brushed his hands off on his pants and headed back to Bucky’s room.

Steve found Bucky’s door halfway open, the room dark and silent. He pushed open the door the rest of the way. “Bucky,” he called quietly.

There was no answer, so he tried again. “Bucky,” he said, louder this time.

“Yeah, Steve, ‘m over here,” Buckys voice came from the corner of the room.

Steve flicked on the lights and his eyed adjusted quickly but he still didn’t see Bucky. He wasn’t at the keyboard or on the bed. Steve stepped across the room, taking care not to trip. As he crossed the room, nearing the bed, he saw Bucky huddled on the floor in the corner between his bed and the bathroom door.

“Bucky, what are you doing?” Steve asked, dropping to his knees.

“Tried to get undressed. It didn’t work so well.” Bucky’s boots were still on, the laces knotted stubbornly and his t-shirt was half off, his casted left arm free of the fabric, the rest of it hanging around his neck and right arm.

Steve’s eyes followed the line of Bucky’s right arm down to his hand where he was clutching a bottle of bourbon. “Where did you get that Bucky?” he asked, trying to take the bottle from Bucky’s hand.

“Found it, in my closet,” Bucky said. It was then that Steve noticed Bucky was slurring his words. Bucky wouldn’t let Steve have the bottle, instead he brought it to his lips, tipping his head back and swallowing the amber liquid down. “Now it’s your turn, Steve,” he said, holding the bottle out towards Steve, sloshing it back and forth.

“No, Bucky, let’s get you undressed and into bed. I don’t need any of that,” Steve said gently.

“No, Steve. You gotta. I don’t wanna be drunk alone.” Bucky thrust the bottle towards Steve’s chest, the glass thumping against his sternum uncomfortably.

“Sure, fine Bucky,” Steve said, taking the bottle. He took a small sip, grimacing at the taste. “Now, give me your foot,” he said firmly, pulling Bucky’s left foot towards him.

Bucky obliged him, letting Steve untangle his laces and pull the boots off.

“Do you want to take off your jeans too?” Steve asked as he set the bottle onto the carpet, easing Bucky out of his t-shirt. The room was warm, but as Steve’s finger brushed against Bucky’s side, he saw goose bumps rise along Bucky’s skin.

“Yeah, Steve, I’d like that,” Bucky said softly. He leaned close, his face inches from Steve’s.

Steve could smell the bourbon on Bucky’s breath and judging from that and the half empty bottle, he’d already had a lot to drink.

“Steve, take another drink, Steve. You’ve got some catching up to do.” Bucky reached for the bottle, nearly knocking it over with his searching fingers.

Steve caught the bottle easily before it toppled over onto the carpet. “Okay, look, I’m taking another drink,” he said, listing the bottle up and taking another drink.

“Good, that’s good, Steve.” Bucky murmured. “Now, you were gonna undress me. Don’t you want to take my clothes off, Steve?”

Steve hesitated. He knew what Bucky was asking him, and he wanted it, oh he did. He wanted Bucky. But he also knew Bucky was drunk and his mood had been unstable and he didn’t know what to do.

“Please, Steve,” Bucky asked again. “You want to kiss me, you want to taste me, don’t you?”

Steve tightened his grip on the bottle of bourbon, taking a large gulp. “Yeah, Bucky, I do,” he said, leaning in close to brush his lips against Bucky’s.

They kissed briefly before Steve pulled back.

“Don’t stop,” Bucky pleaded.

“You sure this is a good idea, Bucky,” Steve asked unsteadily. He was feeling lightheaded from the bourbon and from kissing Bucky but he still wondered if it was a good idea.

“Yeah, I’m sure Steve. Kiss me and make me forget.”

Steve knew Bucky was _so_  drunk, and he was on his way to the same state. He knew and he couldn’t bring himself to care. If it meant he got a glimpse of the old Bucky, he didn’t care. “You want me to help you into bed?” he asked, skimming his hands up Bucky’s bare arm. Still holding the bourbon, Steve got to his feet, crouching to put an arm under Bucky’s and bring both of them to a standing position.

“Only if you stay in bed with me.” Bucky settled his hand on Steve’s waist. “Look at you. You’re perfect, Steve Rogers.”

Steve breathed in slowly as Bucky’s thumb stroked his side through his shirt. Even that little touch made his skin tingle, reminded him of the other times Bucky had touched him. Even without the bourbon in his system to match Bucky’s he would have shivered at Bucky’s touch. He’d always been aware of Bucky, of his touch, but after all the time apart, after Bucky trying to reject his help, him, for so long, it was more than Steve could resist. “I’m not perfect, Bucky. I’m just me.”

“I’m saying,” Bucky said, leaning in and kissing Steve’s cheek,  “That you’re perfect. And you’re gorgeous.” He pressed another kiss against Steve’s skin is wet and open-mouthed. “And I love you.”

“I’m—” Steve shivered again at the light touch of the tip of Bucky’s tongue against his skin. He curled his fingers into the waistband of Bucky’s jeans, the room starting to spin slightly. “I love you too, Bucky.”

Bucky laughed, low and rough and pushed Steve towards the bed. Neither of them noticed that the bottle of bourbon slipped from Steve’s fingers, spilling onto the carpet as Bucky crashed on top of Steve with drunken grace. “I don’t deserve it, but I’ll take it,” he said. He lifted his head to look at Steve, his blue-gray eyes alcohol-hazed. “You’re fucking perfect, Steve.”

Steve’s breath hitched a little at the intensity of Bucky’s words. A part of him was still saying that he should roll Bucky off him, get him a glass of water and get him to sleep it off. Because that’s what he should do, take care of Bucky. But that’s not what he wanted to do. “You’re drunk,” he managed to say, even as he sighed into Bucky’s touch.

Bucky did roll off Steve then, landing on his back smoothly. “Don’t wanna crush you,” he mumbled. “Can’t do anything with this arm.” Despite his words to the contrary, he did do something, pulling Steve on top of him, hooking his right arm around Steve’s waist. Bucky mouthed at the line of Steve’s jaw, pressing his splayed hand against Steve’s back to keep them flush together.

Steve was hard against Bucky’s hip and it made his head spin. He rolled his head back, Bucky’s touch and the bourbon heating the blood in his veins. If he hadn’t already been tipsy, he’d be feeling drunk from Bucky’s touches, his kisses. It felt so good, too good, to be this close to Bucky again.  He didn’t know how to resist Bucky, his touches made Steve’s pulse race. His fingers were insistent and possessive as they traced the seam of Steve’s jeans, making him squirm.

Keeping them pressed close, Bucky sucked along the length of Steve’s throat. “You’re perfect,” he breathed against Steve’s skin. He arched his hips up, rubbing his own erection against Steve’s hip.

“You said that already,” Steve said thickly, bringing his hands up into Bucky’s hair, petting him as Bucky moaned against his throat.

“It’s worth repeating.” Bucky said, arching against Steve again.

Steve’s skin felt tight, his brain hazy with the combination of arousal and alcohol. He slid his knee up against the outside of Bucky’s leg, just to feel more, to get closer.

 “God, Steve,” Bucky said, his head falling back against the pillow.

Steve briefly wondered where this was all going, they’d never done anything like this while they were both drunk. He didn’t want to hurt Bucky, but he wanted to touch him, to feel him. Everything between them was sparking hot and just slightly dream-like. “We should stop,” he heard himself say.

“No,” Bucky said, rocking against him in a slow, dirty, grind. He looked right into Steve’s eyes. “No, we should keep going. I want you, and I love you, and I want to show you.”

Steve could feel every breath shuddering in and out of his lungs as he looked down at Bucky. Bucky’s face was flushed, his eyes glassy, but everything in his expression was earnest and honest, so focused on Steve. _Everything_ about him was focused on Steve; Bucky’s body was taut, his hand tight on Steve.

There was so much Steve wanted to do, so many places he wanted to touch Bucky, to kiss him, but they were both drunk and he still had to be mindful of Bucky’s left arm. Steve tried to keep up with Bucky’s kisses, but they were overwhelming. It was easier just to let Bucky kiss him and breathe through it.

Steve shifted so the angle of their bodies was just right and he could feel Bucky’s erection pressed against his own. Bucky’s hips moved in tight circles, leaving Steve to bite back high, desperate noises that he couldn’t quite contain. Bucky brought a leg around Steve’s waist and his hand still clung tightly against Steve’s fabric covered shoulder, his fingertips digging into Steve’s skin through his t-shirt.

Steve tore his mouth away from Bucky’s and ducked his head to suck at the skin of Bucky’s throat, leaving Bucky panting against the pillow. They were so tight together that Steve didn’t have a lot of leverage, but he had enough to buck his hips and meet the slow, rolling thrusts Bucky kept making.

He was too drunk to be embarrassed by how close he already felt to coming. It didn’t matter, it wasn’t about finesse or making things slow and gentle. This was about making Bucky forget, even temporarily, it was about pretending things weren’t fucked up, it was about the two of them reconnecting. Steve had forgotten how much he loved hearing the little groans Bucky made.

“Steve,” Bucky moaned, his voice wrecked and broken. Bucky lifted his head off the pillow, his eyes sparkling, lips curled into a sly smile. He let out another moan, tugging Steve into another kiss, licking into his mouth.

Steve squeezed Bucky’s thigh, making Bucky’s hips jump. He worked a hand between them, the heel of his palm rubbing against Bucky’s cock, hot and hard through the denim. Somehow, Steve managed to work down the zipper of Bucky’s jeans, flicking open the button. He slipped his hand inside, fingers brushing against heated flesh through the thin cotton layer of Bucky’s underwear.

“Steve,” Bucky gasped as Steve’s fingers worked their way inside Bucky’s underwear, curling around Bucky’s cock. It only took that one soft touch for Bucky to cry out and shake apart, breath coming hard and fast as he found his release.

“Bucky, Bucky,” Steve breathed as he worked his hips faster. Bucky’s eyes were clenched shut but he pulled Steve against him harder, biting down on Steve’s bottom lip, tugging as Steve’s hips stuttered as he groaned through his own orgasm.

Falling on to the bed, chest still heaving, Steve curled up against Bucky’s right side. A million thoughts whispered in the back of his mind. What had just happened? What did it mean for the way things were between them? He knew he’d need to help Bucky undress, knew they should both undress and clean up. He closed his eyes for a second, drawing in a deep breath. His limbs felt heavy with alcohol and exhaustion. All the tension of the last few weeks had left him during the last few moments with Bucky and Steve dropped off to sleep before he knew what was happening.


	11. I’m not going to go away

When Steve woke up his head was pounding and his mouth was fuzzy. The sunlight coming through the curtains was obnoxiously bright and Steve blinked, turning his head away from the window. The bed was empty save him; Bucky wasn’t anywhere in the room.

Sitting up, Steve winced as his stomach lurched and his head spun. He was still in his clothes from the night before, sticky and smelling like bourbon and Bucky. “Bucky?” he called out, as loudly as he dared. There was no answer, so he swung his legs over the edge of the bed, planting his feet on the floor.

Steve took a moment to gain his bearings before he stood up. Then he shuffled across the room, holding a hand to his temple. He’d definitely drunk too much. On the small table across the room, there was a half-full pot of coffee and an empty mug sitting on top of a torn piece of notebook paper.

Steve slid the paper out from under the mug, trying to focus on the words on the page. Bucky’s scrawl tilted across the page.

‘ _Drink some coffee_.’ That was all the paper said. Steve dropped the note and watched it float towards the table before pouring some coffee into the mug Bucky had left out for him.  The coffee was lukewarm and tasted faintly of ashes, but Steve drank it anyway. He held the mug carefully as he inched closer to the bathroom, now aware of the sound of the shower running.

After nearly tripping over the heap of Bucky’s discarded jeans and underwear, Steve knocked on the bathroom door. “Bucky, you in there?”

Bucky didn’t answer, so Steve tried the doorknob. It turned easily and Steve stepped inside the bathroom. The small room was already filled with steam, the mirror fogged up enough that Steve could barely make out the fuzzy shape of his own face in the glass.

“Bucky?” he tried again. “Everything okay?” He didn’t really want to intrude, but he found his fingers reaching out to grasp at the shower curtain anyway. Pulling it back a few inches, he found Bucky huddled on the floor of the shower. His body was turned sideways so that his cast wouldn’t get wet, but Steve was surprised that Bucky had even thought to do that.

“Go away, Steve, please,” Bucky said, his voice breaking into a sob. “Just go away.”

Steve sat on the edge of the tub and reached out to grasp Bucky’s face in his hand. Turning Bucky’s chin upwards, he could feel Bucky’s body tremble. “Look at me, Bucky, I’m not going to go away. Not this time.”

“You should, Steve. I’m a horrible person. I shouldn’t have asked you to do that last night, I shouldn’t have. It was a mistake.” He jerked his face away from Steve, dropping his head between his knees.

“No, Bucky, you are not a horrible person. You were drunk, but that doesn’t make you horrible. It doesn’t make what we did a mistake.”

“Yes, there is. There's something broken inside of me,” Bucky said, shrinking away from Steve.

“No, Bucky. Your arm is broken, that doesn’t mean _you’re_ broken,” Steve said, trying to stay calm.

“No. Steve, it's not my arm I'm talking about. My arm is a useless piece of shit, but I’m talking about whatever is wrong that makes me think I can fix my problems with cigarettes and alcohol and all those pills I keep shoving down my throat. Listen Rogers,” Bucky’s tone was cold, impersonal, “you shouldn’t like me, you shouldn’t. I don’t deserve you.”

Steve listened to Bucky berate himself and hot, stinging tears slid down his cheeks. “Stop it. Stop it, Bucky.” He stood up and climbed into the tub. He didn’t care that the water was still running and that he was fully dressed.

Bucky leaned away from him but he couldn’t go far. The tub was small and Bucky’s cast had to stay dry. Steve wrapped his arms around Bucky, holding him as tightly as he could.

Bucky tensed as Steve’s arms drew around him. “Steve, don’t do this,” he said, trying to wrench away.

Steve didn’t say anything, didn’t know what to say. But he wasn’t going to let go. Minutes passed, Steve’s soaked clothing clinging to his skin as the warm water beat down on them.

Bucky’s body shuddered and he finally stopped trying to pull away from Steve. “I don’t deserve this, don’t deserve you,” he said, his voice breaking off into a sob.

Steve just kept holding Bucky, rocking their bodies slightly. “Shhh,” he soothed. “You do, Bucky, you do deserve me,” he whispered against Bucky’s wet hair.

* * * *

Steve stayed with Bucky all morning, not caring that he missed his classes. The water ran cold before he coaxed Bucky out of the shower. He helped Bucky to get dried off and dressed and tucked him back into bed. Bucky slept, sleeping off the sadness and alcohol and whatever else he had taken. Steve didn’t want to chance leaving again, so he sat and watched Bucky sleep.

Around lunch time, the phone rang, jolting Steve up from the edge of the bed where he sat watching Bucky’s chest rise and fall steadily. He dove for the phone, hoping it wouldn’t wake Bucky up.

“Hello?”

“Steve, is that you?” Natasha asked.

“Yeah,” Steve said, lowering his voice. “I’m here with Bucky. I know I missed classes and Dean Phillips is probably going to flip, but I can’t leave him alone.”

“Shit, Steve, what happened?” Natasha asked, concern evident in the way she rushed her words.

“He was really drunk last night and he sort of had, I dunno, like some kind of breakdown. He’s sleeping now, but…” Steve found he didn’t really know what to say.

Natasha sighed into the phone. “Steve, I’m coming over there, just hang on.”

There was a click as she hung up the phone and Steve glanced over at Bucky before hanging up also. Bucky was still asleep and Steve figured that was a good thing.

A few minutes later Natasha knocked and then let herself into Bucky’s room without waiting for Steve to answer the door.

“I brought some food,” she said holding up a paper plate with slices of apple, slices of cheese and a stack of crackers. “For you and for Bucky, if he wakes up.” She sat on the floor and offered the plate up to Steve.

He gratefully took a few crackers and slices of cheese. He ate in silence, finishing the handful of food Natasha had shared with him before working up the nerve to say something. “Has he ever been like this before?”

Natasha shook her head, breathing in through her nose. “I’ve never seen him like this before. He’s been depressed sometimes, sure. He’s hard on himself, harder on himself sometimes than even his dad is on him.” She craned her neck, trying to look at Bucky’s sleeping form behind Steve. “But this is bad, Steve. He’s been through a lot, breaking his arm like that. It’s enough to fuck anyone up.”

“So what am I supposed to do for him?” Steve asked. “How can I help him?”

“I wish I knew, Steve. I wish I knew,” Natasha said, shaking her head slowly.

“He keeps telling me he doesn’t deserve me,” Steve told her. “He’s trying to get me to leave him.”

“He probably thinks you _will_ leave him. And he wants to be the one to _make_ you leave, instead of you  catching him off guard.” Natasha handed Steve the paper plate and stood up. She walked around to the head of the bed, bending to brush the hair off Bucky’s forehead.

It was an intimate gesture and Steve’s heart jolted with a pang of jealousy before he looked at the creases lining Natasha’s brow. She wasn’t doing it out of any kind of romantic interest in Bucky, no, it was more like a maternal gesture.

Bucky stirred at her touch, his eyes fluttering open slowly. “Nat?” he whispered sleepily. “What are you doing here? Where’s Steve?”

Steve leaned over so that Bucky could see him. “Right here, Buck. I’m not going anywhere. I promise.”

A small tear leaked from the corner of Bucky’s eye as he squeezed them shut again. “Steve,” he breathed.

“James, how are you feeling?” Natasha asked, straightening up.

“I need to take my pills,” he mumbled.

“Sure, Bucky, but first eat something, okay?” Steve held out the plate of food for Bucky to see.

Bucky pushed himself up into a sitting position and wiped at his eyes with the back of his right hand. “Thanks.” He took a closer look at the plate. “I must have Nat to thank for this,” he said, flashing a smile at Natasha.

“Of course, James. I couldn’t leave poor Steve in here watching you all day without anything to eat. And I thought you might be hungry too.”

Bucky took a slice of apple and bit into it. He ate the whole slice before reaching for another. “Steve, aren’t you supposed to be in class now?”

Steve shrugged. “I didn’t want to leave you alone. I need you to be okay, Bucky,” he said selfishly.

“Steve, _Jesus_. You’re gonna get kicked out of school just because you wanted to watch me sleep,” Bucky joked.

Steve bit back a nervous laugh. “It’s fine, I’ll just go to the infirmary and get a note, I’ll tell the nurse I had a migraine all day and couldn’t get out of bed.”

“Steve!” Natasha said, feigning shock. “You’d tell a lie?”

They all laughed then, and hearing Bucky’s laugh was like music to Steve’s ears.

“Well, since we all skipped class today,” Natasha said, “I think we should do something to celebrate.”

“As long as it doesn’t involve bourbon, I’m all for it,” Steve said, pulling a face.

“Not at all,” Natasha said, smiling. “I have an idea, and I think it’s right up your alley, Steve.”

“What about me?” Bucky asked. “Is it up my alley too, Nat?”

“James, what would you say to coming out to the common room?”

Bucky rubbed his hand along his jaw. “What for?”

“Well, I was thinking we could all grab a marker and sign your cast,” Natasha said. Turning to Steve, she added, “And you can turn it into a work of art, what do you say, Steve?”

Steve looked at Bucky for approval. He was met with a soft smile, a look he’d missed immensely. “Yeah, I’d like that a lot.”

* * * *

A few hours later, Bucky sat on the couch in the common room surrounded by a group of their friends.

“Well, Steve,” Bucky said, shaking his head at the names scrawled over his cast, “you gonna make this beautiful?”

Steve looked at Bucky’s cast. Natasha had signed it, along with Sam. Clint and Kate had both signed it, fighting over the purple marker. America, the girl in the room next to Kate and Natasha’s had signed it too, along with Steve.

Steve looked at the names of Bucky’s friends, and a smile crossed his face. He pulled a chair close to the couch and sat opposite Bucky, cradling Bucky’s arm in his lap. Around each name, each signature, he drew something that he felt represented each person. He lost track of time, as he often did while he was drawing, and when he finally looked up, he and Bucky were the only ones left in the common room.

Steve looked down at Bucky’s cast. From his shoulder down to his hand there was barely an inch left uncolored. “What do you think?” he asked, hoping that Bucky liked it, since he’d have the cast on for another month or so.

Bucky stared down at the cast, twisting his body so he could see all of it. “I love it. This is the best. Thank you, Steve.”

* * * *

It was just over four weeks later, that Bucky approached Steve nervously. “Steve, can I ask you a favor?”

“Of course Bucky. Anything.”

“Today’s the day I have to go get my cast removed. I was wondering it… Shit!” Bucky’s face fell. “Never mind.”

“No, Bucky, what were you going to ask?”

“I wanted to know if you could come with me to the appointment. They’re going to take the cast off and check it out and let me know how screwed up it is. But I remembered you’re not allowed to leave campus. So, like I said, never mind.”

“Bucky. Of course I’ll go with you. Let me go talk to Dean Phillips, when do we need to leave?”

“In an hour. Clint’s driving me in the van, over to the hospital.”

“Fine, then I’ll ask Dean Phillips if I can go, I’ll tell him I need to go see the asthma specialist. He shouldn’t have a problem with me going.”

“Steve, I don’t want you to lie, to get in trouble on my account.”

“Bucky, I don’t care if I have to tell a dozen lies, I’m coming with you,” Steve said determinedly.

* * * *

An hour and twenty minutes later, Steve and Bucky sat in the waiting room of the hospital orthopedists office. The office was full of hard angles and stark white walls and Steve could tell Bucky wasn’t feeling comfortable.

“James?” a nurse called, coming out of the back with a clipboard. “James Barnes?”

“Here, that’s me,” Bucky said, standing up and looking at Steve. “Can my friend come back with me?”

The nurse looked from Bucky to Steve, then back to Bucky. “Of course. Please step back this way. We’ll get your weight first.”

Steve followed Bucky, who was following the nurse.

“Step onto the scale please,” she instructed Bucky.  He did and she adjusted the scale, frowning as she slid the weights across the bar to read his weight correctly. “Looks like you’ve lost some weight,” she said, writing something on her clipboard.

She led them back to an exam room, more white walls, and told them both to take a seat. “Doctor Roberts will be in shortly,” she said, as she left and shut the door.

Bucky climbed onto the exam table, the paper crinkling as he sat down. Steve took a seat opposite him in the gray, molded plastic chair that sat in the corner of the small room.

Eventually the doctor came in, asking Bucky a few perfunctory questions.

“Are you ready to get this cast off?” Doctor Roberts asked finally.

“Yes sir, please,” Bucky answered.

Doctor Roberts pulled a cart close and had Bucky rest his arm on the stainless steel surface. “This won’t hurt a bit,” he told Bucky as he picked up a small circular saw. It buzzed to life and he placed it against the upper edge of Bucky’s cast. “What a shame to destroy something this pretty,” he said, as he sliced through the cast all of Bucky’s friends had signed and Steve had decorated.

It took less than a minute to finish sawing through Bucky’s cast. When he was done, the doctor turned off the saw, placing it back onto the tray.  He peeled apart the two halves of Bucky’s cast, the plaster cracking softly as he pulled it apart. “Do you want to keep this at all?” the doctor asked.

Bucky looked at Steve, who shrugged. “It’s up to you, Bucky.”

Bucky looked down at the cast. “Toss it, doc,” he said, a smile creeping across his face.

Doctor Roberts looked surprised and he placed the cast aside instead of throwing it away immediately. He picked up Bucky’s arm to examine it, handling the scarred arm gently. From Steve’s seat he could see that Bucky’s left arm was nearly as pale and spindly as his arms were. It was a start contrast from Bucky’s well-defined right arm and his normal golden skin tone. His left arm was thin and a sickly shade of white.

The doctor ran his fingers over Bucky’s shoulder, down along the scars where they had pieced together his bones and installed metal plates and rods. “It looks good, it’s been healing well,” the doctor commented.

Bucky nodded. “What about using it, doc?”

He doctor hummed, pressing against Bucky’s arm in several different places. He took Bucky’s hand in his, paying a finger across Bucky’s palm. “Can you squeeze my finger?”

Bucky’s faced screwed up in a look of immense concentration. His fingers twitched, but didn’t curl around the doctor’s finger.

The doctor pulled his finger away, tsk-ing slightly as he marked down something on his clipboard. Bucky’s medical file, Steve suddenly realized. “Can you flex your wrist?” the doctor asked, demonstrating with his own wrist.

Bucky could move his wrist slightly, but that was about it. The doctor went through the same thing with Bucky’s elbow and his shoulder, his expression neutral as he scribbled notes in Bucky’s chart.

Steve watched Bucky’s arm be poked and prodded and he could tell from the look in Bucky’s eyes that it was hurting him.

Finishing his examination, the doctor sat down, pulling his stool close to the exam table. “Well, James,” he said, “I’m afraid it’s about what I was expecting. Unfortunately the damage to your arm, to all of the bones, was pretty extensive.  Now that the cast is removed it’s going to require a lot of physical therapy.” The doctor drew in a deep breath, then exhaled through his nose. “Of course nothing is certain, but there’s a good chance that you won’t ever regain the movement or use of your arm that you had before.” He smiled, that genial fatherly smile that doctors reserve for telling patients bad news. “Of course you’re young and resilient, so you may surprise us after all,” he continued.

Bucky winced at the doctors words, but he didn’t say anything.

“So, we’ll get you set up with physical therapy appointments, I’ll have the receptionist schedule that on your way out. Do you have any other questions?”

Bucky shook his head and slid off the exam table. “Can I go now?”

“Of course, just stop by the reception desk to set up those physical therapy appointments,” the doctor said.

Bucky was already halfway down the hall and Steve hurried after him, pausing to grab the pieces of Bucky’s cast before thanking the doctor as he left the room.

Steve caught up with Bucky at the reception desk.

“Your first appointment will be next Wednesday at four in the afternoon and then the physical therapist will decide how frequently he’d like to see you,” the pretty redheaded receptionist told Bucky. The nameplate on her desk said that her name was Alice.

“Great,” Bucky told Alice. She smiled even though it seemed obvious to Steve that he was being sarcastic.

“Here, in the meantime the doctor wanted me to give you this,” Alice said, handing Bucky a soft rubber ball. “Hold it in your fist and squeeze it while you’re sitting for long periods of time.”

Bucky took the ball from her, holding it in his right hand. “Thanks.” He tucked the ball into his pocket along with the appointment card reminding him of the date, time and place of the physical therapy appointment.

Bucky walked stoically out the van, Steve trailing behind him. Bucky wouldn’t slow his stride enough for Steve to catch up. He was out of breath by the time he climbed into the van after Bucky, pulling the door shut with a slam, still holding the remnants of Bucky’s cast.

“How’d it go?” Clint asked. “How’s the arm?”

Bucky lifted his arm towards Clint, wincing as he raised it from his side. He was only able to lift it a little. “Sore, it still hurts like hell.”

Clint pulled a sympathetic face. “Bet that’s gonna make playing your instruments hard, huh?”

Bucky looked like Clint’s words had hit something deep inside of him and Steve could see him blinking rapidly, trying to keep from crying. “Yeah,” he whispered hoarsely.

Clint started the van and turned his attention towards navigating them back to the highway, starting the drive back towards Lakewood.

Steve watched as Bucky pulled the rubber ball from his pocket and transferred it to his left hand. His fingers twitched around the small ball. He turned towards Steve, smiling sadly. “I wonder if any of this will even help. If I’ll ever be able to play piano again without hurting.”

“You heard the doctor, Bucky. You could surprise them all.”

“Yeah,” Bucky said. He rolled down the window with his right hand then dropped the ball in his lap. He stared down at it for a few minutes, the wind from the open window ruffling his hair. “Maybe,” he added as he took the ball and unceremoniously dropped it out the window, watching it roll down the highway.


	12. I love you, Bucky Barnes

That was the first and last time Bucky asked Steve to accompany him to an appointment. Steve knew Bucky went to physical therapy twice a week; Clint drove him back and forth in the school van every Wednesday and Friday. But Bucky never said a word about his progress.

By the beginning of March, the weather was clearing up, and the melting snow made everything look gray and dreary. But as the piles of snow began to disappear, signs of spring began to appear.

It still wasn't warm enough to spend much time out in the courtyard, but when Steve woke up, alone in Bucky's bed at two in the morning, he knew that's where he would find him.

Other than the way Bucky still held his left arm awkwardly against his side, it was easy for Steve imagine that it was one of the autumn evenings when he used to join Bucky on the courtyard bench. Bucky sat in the exact same spot, staring off into the distance. He was smoking and Steve could tell from the sweet scent carried on the breeze as he approached that it wasn't a cigarette that Bucky brought to his lips.

“Bucky, what are you doing out here?”

Bucky didn't seem startled or even surprised to see Steve. “I couldn't sleep. I didn't want to wake you.”

“You could have. I wouldn't have minded,” Steve told him, taking a seat on the bench.

Bucky shrugged. He remained sitting on the top of the bench, his heavy boots pressed against the side of Steve's thigh. He leaned down and held the joint out to Steve, the tip glowing orange in the murky dark.

Steve shook his head. “No, thanks. Did you sleep at all, Bucky?”

Bucky took a hit before answering. “Nah. I don't think so. I couldn't get comfortable. Couldn't turn off my mind either.”

“What were you thinking about?” Steve asked.

“I dunno, just stupid shit, like usual. My birthday is next week and my mom sent me a letter.”

Steve hadn’t known Bucky’s birthday was coming up, hadn’t even thought to ask. “What, wishing you happy birthday?”

Bucky snorted. “Not really. She just remembers that the school year is over two months after my birthday. She was filling me in on all the trips they're taking over the summer. Her and my dad.”

“You don't go with them?” Steve asked curiously.

“Not unless I have to. They'll be gone most of the summer.”

“So what do you do all summer?”

Bucky laughed, a short broken sound. “That's the thing, I usually spend the summer playing music, practicing, going to lessons”. He raised his left arm. “Not sure that's in the cards for this summer.”

Steve could tell Bucky was feeling bitter, rightfully so, but he wanted to change the subject. “So, your birthday? When is it exactly?”

“March tenth. And Nat already knows she's not supposed to make a big deal out of it. No party. She's forbidden to even try.”

“That's Natasha,” Steve said. “You never forbade me.”

“Steve, I swear to God…” Even in the darkness Steve could tell Bucky was glaring at him.

“I promise I won't do anything crazy. I'm still restricted to staying on campus, remember. But at least let me make sure to have a cake.”

“Fine. I'm not going to argue with you. It never does me any good anyway.  If you have to, just make sure it's chocolate cake, please.”

“Chocolate cake it is,” Steve said with a smile. He wanted to make Bucky’s birthday special, even if he didn’t want a party.

* * * *

"Bucky, isn't it your birthday this Tuesday?" Natasha asked at lunch a few days later.

“Yes, you know it is, Nat.”

"You have to let us throw a party," Natasha said, a glint of excitement in her eyes. "You haven't let me throw you a birthday party yet. You’re turning eighteen, you need one. Why not this year?"

Steve and Sam watched their exchange silently, exchanging glances as Natasha persisted.

“C’mon,” she cajoled. “You’ve got Steve this year, and even though I know he’s like a tiny ray of sunshine—”

“Hey!” Steve interrupted. “I am not—”

“Yes, you are,” Sam said at the same time as Natasha.

“Anyway,” Natasha continued, “I know Steve makes you happy, but why not let me throw a little party? It’ll be fun,” she promised.

Bucky’s lips twitched and curved into a smile, which he hid by looking down at his lunch tray. “I’ve never liked parties. I can’t remember a single time when I’ve actually had fun at one of my birthday parties.”

“Just let us do this,” Natasha said, giving him a look. “It’ll be fun, I promise."

“Please, Bucky. Let Nat throw a party. Let us do this.” Steve turned towards Bucky with an exaggerated pout, batting his eyelashes. “Please?”

"Okay, fine," Bucky said, giving Natasha a faint smile. He turned to Steve then. “I still better get that chocolate cake.”

* * * *

In the end, the party Natasha threw for Bucky’s birthday was a lot like her un-Halloween party. There were less people and they actually had birthday decorations. Steve hung back, watching from the sidelines. This time however, Bucky was by his side.

“This isn’t my party, you know,” Bucky told him after the celebration had been going on for an hour.

“What do you mean it's not your party?” Steve asked. He looked at Bucky, but Bucky wouldn’t meet his eyes, his gaze flicked around the common room, never staying on one thing for too long. "It's for your birthday, isn't it?"

“Yeah, it’s my birthday, but Natasha didn’t throw this party for me. I mean, it looks like she did, but it’s really for her and _for you_.” Bucky looked at Steve, biting his lip as he let a small smile spread over his lips.

At those words, Steve’s eyes went wide as they met Bucky’s, and Bucky laughed. The sound sent chills down Steve’s spine. It was a beautiful sound.

“Hey,” Steve said, placing a hand on Bucky’s shoulder.  He kissed Bucky suddenly, pressing their lips together and although it was only for a second or so before Bucky pulled away, Steve’s heart was racing.

“Why’d you do that?" Bucky asked, his voice a loud whisper. His hand automatically reached up to touch his lips where Steve's had just been.

Steve smiled at Bucky, reaching up and gliding his thumb along Bucky’s jaw. “You looked like you needed it. Happy Birthday.” With that, he grabbed Bucky’s hand and started leading the way through the people dancing and partying.

Setve could feel Bucky’s eyes locked on him the entire way, and as they reached the center of the room, Steve turned and looked directly at Bucky.

“Hey!” Steve shouted over the music.

Someone turned the stereo down and everyone in the room seemed to be listening to Steve. “Someone bring the birthday boy some cake!”

* * * *

 The evening passed quickly after that and since it was a Tuesday night, everyone besides Steve, Bucky, Sam and Natasha had cleared out of the common room well before midnight.

“Make sure we clean up everything. Clint said we have to have the room back to the way it was before the party,” Natasha told them. “That means it needs to be spotless.”

Sam turned to Natasha, holding a trash bag full of empty Styrofoam cups. “This room was not spotless before and Clint knows it. He’s just trying to get us to clean it up.”

“Yeah, yeah, just help me finish picking up the trash.” Natasha rolled her eyes at Sam and as soon as her back was turned he stuck out his tongue at her.

“Hey,” Bucky said, grabbing Steve by the wrist and pulling him towards the doorway before he spoke again. "So, about what I said—” he began, but Steve interrupted him.

“It's okay,” he said, shaking his head slightly as he looked down at the floor. "I understood what you meant. We just wanted to do something nice for you, to make you happy.”

“No,” Bucky said, and Steve looked up, not quite understanding what he meant with that. “What I wanted to say was that... it really wasn’t all that bad.” Bucky shrugged, grinning sheepishly.

“I’m glad,” Steve told him. “I’m glad you had fun.”

Bucky laughed again. “I wouldn’t go that far. I don’t want to let Nat go thinking she did something I enjoyed. She might think she can do it every year. But thank you, Steve.” Bucky smiled. “Thank you for insisting that she did throw the party.”

Bucky pulled Steve towards him and kissed him. It was hard trying to hold the kiss when both of them were smiling like idiots, but they managed.

“Hey, either help clean up or go get a room,” Natasha said, tossing an empty cup towards Steve and Bucky.

“If those are our choices, we’ll get out of here,” Bucky said. He bent down and retrieved the cup, tossing it back at Natasha. Hand in hand, he and Steve walked out of the common room and back to Bucky’s dorm room, leaving the sounds of Sam’s laughter and Natasha’s grumbling behind them.

* * * *

Most of their academic classes were gearing up for final exams and Steve was buried in homework each night. He told himself that’s why Bucky had started being so quiet after his birthday. It wasn’t that he was withdrawn exactly, but they often passed the whole evening in the same room without Bucky speaking more than a handful of words to Steve.

They were sitting in Bucky’s room in their pajamas, studying for their Psychology final; Steve sat on Bucky’s bed, pouring over the book with a highlighter. Bucky groaned and dropped his head to the desk. “Steve.”

“Yeah, Bucky?” Steve asked, looking up from the book resting in his lap.

“I just can’t seem to focus. Our Psychology final is in the morning and so far, it looks like I’m not going to pass. I hate Psych,” he said, voice muffled by his book. “I hate this class, I hate these theories, I hate this school for making me take it. I just want to drop out.”

“Bucky, don’t be ridiculous. You’ll be fine,” Steve said. Even with all the classes Bucky had missed his grades were still decent and there was no reason to think he wouldn’t pass the final. “You’re just stressed out. Besides, if you drop out, then what would you do?”

Bucky groaned into his textbook again. “Does it really matter?”

Steve closed his book, shoving it off his lap and onto the floor with a yawn. “Why don’t we call it a night? We can cram in the morning at breakfast. But seriously Bucky, I think you’ll be fine.”

Buck’s shoulders slumped as he lifted his head from the desk. “Yeah.  Let’s go to sleep.”

Steve slid under the covers, making space for Bucky to join him. Bucky flipped off the light and Steve smiled as he heard Bucky’s bare feet padding across the room in the darkness.

Bucky climbed into bed, careful of his left arm. It still hung uselessly by his side most of the time. When Bucky was forced to move or use it, Steve could always see the pain behind his eyes.

Bucky moved close, bringing his body tight against Steve. “Goodnight,” he murmured, pressing a kiss against Steve’s lips.

Steve kissed him back, relishing the feel of Bucky’s lips on his. He let the kiss longer, sighing against Bucky’s mouth when Bucky pulled away. “Goodnight,” Steve replied.

Since the night they’d both gotten drunk, kissing was all they’d done. Steve wasn’t complaining, he was glad for any affection Bucky showed him and he didn’t want to push Bucky away by pushing him for something more physical. He just wished he knew why Bucky wasn’t interested in anything more than kissing.

* * * *

“So, James, are you taking Steve to the end of the year dance, or what?” Natasha asked.

Bucky froze, his slice of pizza halfway to his mouth. “What?” he choked. “Dance?”

“Yes, James. The end of the year dance. You know, the dance that we have every May at Lakewood?”

“Oh, so it’s like Prom?” Steve asked, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth.

Sam shot Steve half of a frown. “Nah, not like Prom at a regular high school. It’s not just for juniors or seniors. Everyone that attends Lakewood can go to the dance. And they have it here, in the largest recital stage on the last week of school.”

“So does everyone go?” Steve was intrigued. “I’ve never been to a dance before.” He glanced at Bucky who had managed to get over his shock enough to take a bite of his pizza.

Bucky chewed thoughtfully before answering. “Not everyone. It’s only for Lakewood students, so if you’ve got a boyfriend or a girlfriend who goes to a different school, you can’t invite them.”

“And there’s no Prom King and Queen,” Sam supplied helpfully.

“So? Are you guys going to go together or what?” Natasha asked again.

Steve didn’t want Bucky to feel like they had to go, so he quickly gave an excuse. “I don’t even have a suit,” he said.

“James has a suit though.” Natasha smiled at Bucky sweetly. “Don’t you James?”

“Yeah, I’ve got some suits in my closet. But they won’t fit Steve.” He flashed Steve an apologetic grin. “Sorry, Steve, but you’d look like you were drowning in one of my suits.”

Sam broke out into loud laughter. “Yeah he would! I’ve seen him wearing your sweatshirts; he looks like a kid playing dress up.”

Steve shot Sam a dirty look, giving him a little shove. “Not funny.” He turned to Natasha. “See, I couldn’t go anyway, no suit,” he repeated.

Natasha tapped a finger to her lips. “James, if I find Steve a suit, then will you guys go?”

“You wanna go, Steve?” Bucky asked him quietly, leaning close to bring his mouth near Steve’s ear.

“Only if you want to,” Steve whispered back. He could feel Bucky’s hair brushing against his ear as Bucky’s head nodded next to his.

“Sure, Nat. You find Steve something to wear and we’ll go. Happy?”

“Immensely,” Natasha said with a sly smile. “Sam, tomorrow we are going suit shopping for Steve.”

Sam threw down his plate. “What? How did I get roped into this?”

* * * *

 

Steve glared at his reflection in the mirror. The tux Natasha had found him was ridiculous enough, why couldn’t it have had a clip on tie? He’d been trying to tie it into something that vaguely resembled a bow for at least the past 10 minutes. "Bucky!" he called, giving up.

Bucky came out of the bathroom wearing a black suit, crisp white shirt and a matching black tie. He looked stunning and Steve felt even more ridiculous standing next to Bucky dressed in his pink tuxedo.

"Still can't get it tied?" he asked.

"No. I’ve never actually worn a bow tie before," Steve admitted.

Bucky stepped behind Steve, his fingers brushing Steve’s chin as he looped and twisted the tie into shape. "There. Perfect," he said, smiling at Steve’s reflection. Somehow he had managed to do with one hand what Steve couldn’t manage to do with both hands.

Steve caught sight of Bucky’s neatly painted nails.  “I didn’t to a half bad job painting your nails.”

Bucky examined his fingernails. “Well, I was hoping you could handle applying a little nail polish, since you’re an art student and all. You sure you don’t want to paint yours? It’s not too late.”

 “Bucky, I look ridiculous. I’m wearing a punk tuxedo. A. Pink. Tuxedo. I don’t think black nail polish would go with a pink tuxedo. Honestly, what was Natasha _thinking_ when she picked this out?”

Bucky bit back a laugh. “Steve, I’m sure it’s only because it was the only thing Natasha could find in your size for cheap on short notice.”

“Bucky,” Steve sighed. “She had like, three weeks to find something for me.”

“Yeah, you’re right. Sam probably picked it out of spite. He was really annoyed that Nat drug him out shopping.”

“Are you sure we can’t skip this?”

Bucky wrapped his right arm around Steve’s waist, resting his chin on Steve’s shoulder. “You kidding me? Steve Rogers, you look handsome no matter what you’re wearing. We are going to this dance. This is our last weekend together before school ends and besides, you’re already wearing the tux,” Bucky pointed out.

* * * *

Lakewood’s end of year dance turned out to be a lot like they way Steve imagined a prom would be. There were cheesy photographs, watered down punch, and one of the other RA’s, Bruce, acted as DJ and played awful music.

Steve was jealous of Sam’s navy blue tux; he was sure it wasn’t a coincidence that it matched Natasha's dress perfectly. He was, of course, the only guy wearing pink, but so far no one had made fun of his attire. While Bucky joined Natasha and Sam on the dance floor, Steve sat out most of the fast songs, hanging out with Clint who was chaperoning and standing guard by the punch bowl. Clint was dressed in a shiny black suit with a purple bow tie and matching cummerbund. His shirt was ruffled down the front and Steve gave a silent prayer of thanks that at least his shirt wasn’t covered in ruffles.

“Wow, that one was truly awful,” Clint grumbled, after Bruce played another particularly bad song.

“Why don’t you just turn off your hearing aid if you hate the music he’s playing so much?” Steve asked, tearing his attention away from Bucky’s movements on the dance floor.

“I already did,” Clint said dryly.

Steve laughed at Clint’s wry expression, nearly spilling his punch, but Clint just ignored Steve’s laughter and waved to Kate as she danced by with her friend America.

Fortunately, Steve didn’t have to listen to Clint complain any longer because just then  Bucky appeared at his side.

“Hey Steve,” he said with a lopsided grin.

“Bucky! Did you come to listen to Clint complain about the music some more?”

“Nah, Steve. I came to get you to dance with me.” Bucky tugged Steve towards the center of the room, into the crush of bodies, and pulled until they were flush against each other. At first Steve was clumsy, a little awkward, but the more he and Bucky danced, the more easy motions became and the less he tripped over his own feet.

By the time the Bruce announced the last song of the night, Bucky and Steve had both abandoned their coats, and Bucky his tie, while Steve kept his bowtie on.

The song started, slow and sweet, as Bucky was moving Steve across the floor. They didn’t even keep up a pretense of dancing. Steve wrapped his arms around Bucky’s waist, Bucky draped his right arm over Steve’s shoulders, and they swayed together, foreheads touching, breathing each other in.

“Steve…” Bucky said on an exhale.

“Yeah?” Steve asked, equally quiet. The song poured around them, insulating them from everyone and everything else.

“I don’t know what I’m gonna do, all summer without you,” Bucky said sadly.

“You’ll have your therapy, right? And you can still play music, Bucky, I know you can,” Steve told him.

“I know it’s expensive, but do you think you could come visit me over the summer?” Bucky asked suddenly, chewing his lip as if he’d been thinking about his question for some time.

“Yeah, Bucky. I’d love to. I could do some odd jobs around the neighborhood and save up for the bus ticket.” Steve’s voice was gentle and he hoped Bucky could tell he was sincere. “I can ask my mom for money towards it for my birthday, instead of a present.”

“Your birthday’s on the fourth of July, right? Well, I was thinking, there's always this huge fireworks display in town and there’s an amazing view from my backyard and if you came for the fourth we could watch the fireworks together and pretend they're all for you.” Bucky said. His eyes danced, a promise shining in there somewhere, but what he was promising Steve didn’t know.

“I’ll make sure it happens,” Steve said firmly. The song ended right then, snapping them both out of their trance. Bucky straightened and Steve let his hands fall from where they’d been clasped around Bucky’s waist. But they didn’t step apart.

Bucky stared down at Steve. “Are you sure?” he whispered, his face solemn, his eyes bright.

Steve nodded and Bucky immediately brought him into his arms, pulling Steve tight to his chest, and then pushing him away just far enough that he could catch his boyfriend’s lips in a fierce kiss.

It caught Steve off guard for a split second, but he quickly melted, letting Bucky’s mouth ply his open, letting Bucky taste him. Bucky broke this kiss a moment later, breathing heavily. Steve was so relieved to see the happy glow on Bucky's face tonight it barely registered that here they were, two guys, kissing in front of dozens of other people, and neither he nor Bucky gave a damn.

“Are you ready to ditch this dance and come back to my room?” Bucky asked breathlessly.

Steve loved how Bucky’s eyes lit up and how the smile on his face grew as he nodded. This time, Steve leaned up and kissed Bucky, a quick, ghost of his lips before they exited the dance floor.

They barely made it to Bucky’s room before Steve pressed his lips to Bucky's again. Bucky returned the kiss eagerly, instantly tugging Steve closer, the fingers of his right hand digging into Steve's waist. Steve moaned at that, tangling his hands in Bucky's hair.

Steve deepened the kiss, unable to keep his hands from roaming the expanse of Bucky's back.

Steve dug his fingers into Bucky’s hair, eliciting a small groan from Bucky, and he pressed Steve’s body further into his.

Steve's head was spinning. He could barely breathe and he didn't care. He continued to kiss Bucky feverishly, not wanting to stop. Steve clawed at the material of Bucky’s suit, not caring whether it would wrinkle.

The sound of heavy breathing was the only thing to be heard in the small room until Steve's head hit the back of door with a loud thud. Both boys broke apart, startled, unaware that they had even been moving.

Out of breath, Steve laughed a little, releasing his grip on Bucky. “I love you, Bucky Barnes.”

“And I love you, Steve Rogers,” Bucky said before crashing his lips into Steve’s again.


	13. I guess this is how we learn what’s important and what’s not

The last weekend of the school year at Lakewood was busy and bittersweet. Everyone was packing up their rooms, saying goodbye to roommates and friends they wouldn’t see until fall. As chaotic as when everyone left for Christmas, but this time Steve wasn’t staying behind. _Everyone was leaving_.

Steve and Bucky both knew it was their last day together, but neither one of them wanted to talk about it. Sam and Natasha had both left the day before, and it was hard enough to say goodbye to them. Steve wasn’t sure how he’d be able to say goodbye to Bucky. Even though his belongings were divided between Bucky’s room and his own, Steve had his bags packed in record time. He didn’t have many things and he wasn’t nearly as messy as Bucky, so he was done packing before Bucky was.

He sat on the edge of Bucky’s bed, watching as Bucky tossed things into a suitcase, the same one he had packed for his trip to Vail. There were cardboard boxes stacked by the open door but Bucky’s instruments were still sitting in their places around the room.

Clint popped his head in the door. “How’s it going? You need any help?”

“Hmm?” Bucky turned from the suitcase on the bed and walked over to where his guitar rested in the corner. “You want to take this off my hands?” he asked Clint.

Clint stepped inside the room, cocking his head. “Did I hear you right? You’re trying to give me your guitar?”

“Yeah, you want it or not?”

Steve watched the exchange, Clint refusing and Bucky insisting, and wondered how Bucky could be so cheerful about giving away a guitar that he clearly loved.

“Listen,” Bucky said firmly, handing the guitar to Clint. “Just take it. I have others at home and I was planning on getting a new one anyway.”

“Alright man, alright,” Clint said, taking the guitar. “I appreciate it, but I still think you’re nuts for giving such a nice acoustic guitar away.”

As Clint left, Steve stood and walked over to Bucky’s keyboard, running his hands along the keys. “You gonna try and give this to me next?” he joked.

Bucky shook his head. “Nah. I only gave Clint the guitar because I know he can play. You’re hopeless.”

Steve scoffed but he knew he had no musical talent anyway.

Bucky reached into his pocket, drawing out a scrap of paper. “Here, Steve, this is my number. It’s for my direct line. It only rings in my room, so no one should answer it besides me.”

Steve took the paper from Bucky and tucked it in his pocket. He found a pen and paper lying on Bucky’s desk and wrote down his own number, giving it to Bucky. “Well, we only have one phone number,” he teased, “but if I don't answer, my mom will and she's nice, I promise.”

“I'm sure she is, Steve. She's put up with your antics for this long, she must have the patience of a saint,” Bucky joked as he took the paper with Steve’s number and put it into his pocket. “She can't be a bad person.”

“Promise me, if you need me, just call. I'll be home all summer anyway,” Steve said, feeling a lump in his throat. He wasn’t going to cry, it wouldn’t be fair to Bucky.

Bucky nodded. “It won't be the same as talking to you face to face, but I appreciate the offer.”

* * * *

Bucky’s parents were coming to pick him up later that afternoon but Steve’s bus home left earlier. Clint drove Steve to the bus station, and getting into the van and leaving Bucky behind was one of the hardest things that Steve had ever done. He swallowed back tears and tried to smile but he didn’t trust himself to speak as Bucky slung an arm around him and said goodbye. Steve was excited to be going home, to see his mother again, but mostly he was heavyhearted to be leaving Bucky.

He told himself that Bucky would be fine, because he wanted to believe it was true. Steve sighed, leaning over to rest his forehead against the window.  He watched Bucky waving at him. The glass was cool on his skin and a chill ran through him, making him shiver as Clint drove towards the bus stop.

* * * *

The first few weeks home passed quickly, and Steve thought of Bucky often, but every time he picked up the phone and tried to call him, Bucky was never home. Either that or he wasn’t answering.

It was early June and Steve was home alone, as usual, while his mom worked the night shift. He was sitting in the living room watching Johnny Carson when the phone rang. Steve turned down the volume on the television and grabbed the phone.

“Hello?”

“Steve? Is that you Steve?” a familiar voice crackled over the line.

“Bucky?”

“Yeah, Steve. It’s me.”

Steve breathed in, feeling his stomach drop. It was the first time Bucky had called him since school had ended. In fact, it was the first time Steve had talked to Bucky on the phone since Christmas Eve. “Hey, Bucky,” he said shakily, “how are you?”

“Steve, I really wish you were here,” Bucky said.

He sounded upset and Steve wanted to reassure him. “I do too, just a few more weeks and I'm coming out for my birthday, remember?”

“I know, I know. I just… I feel so alone, Steve.  I saw Nat the other day and it just made me miss you more.”

“It’s okay Bucky, I’m here now. We can talk, it’s almost as good as seeing each other, right?”

There was a pause and Steve listened to Bucky breathing.

“Yeah… I guess so. Just talk to me awhile Steve, please?”

“I will, Bucky. What should I talk about?”

“Anything. Just talk to me, Steve. Tell me about what you do all day.”

Steve told Bucky about the paper route he’d started, to try and save money. They talked, well, mostly Steve talked and Bucky listened. Steve grew more and more tired, but he wouldn't admit it, wouldn't hang up on Bucky.

He didn’t hang up on Bucky, but he did fall asleep. He only woke up hours later, when his mother came home from work. The sun was just starting to rise and Steve still clutched the phone in his hand, the dial tone sounding in his ear.

“Steve, what on earth?” Sarah said, taking the phone from Steve and hanging it back up.

Steve sat up, stretching and yawning. “Bucky called Me last night, mmom. I guess I feel asleep talking to him.”

“Bucky? The friend you're going to visit over your birthday?”

Steve nodded, rubbing at the creases on his face that had formed from falling asleep with his head on the kitchen table.

“You really like him, don't you sweetheart?” Sarah asked, sitting down at the table next to Steve.

“Yeah, Mom, I do.”

Steve couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong, that Bucky was sliding back into a bad place. He tried calling him back, several times, but just like before, there was no answer.

* * * *

A few days later, Steve went to check the mail the way he did every morning. He grabbed the stack of envelopes from the mailbox and flipped through them as he walked inside. The stack was mostly bills, but on the bottom of the pile, there was an odd sized envelope. Steve pulled it from the stack and looked at the writing on the front of the envelope. His name was scrawled across the front and the return address was Bucky’s.

Steve sat down at the table and tore open the envelope. Inside was a piece of folded notebook paper. He unfolded it and started to read.

Steve,

Forget me, Steve, and move on. I’m good at pretending Steve. I got too good at pretending that everything would be alright in the end. But it won’t be, it never will. So this is goodbye Steve. It’s a shitty way to say it, I know that.  I hope one day you’re at peace with yourself. I hope you can take a shower without crying and you can close your eyes without thinking about me. I hope one day you even start singing in the shower and are happy for no reason. I hope you’re happy Steve, because you deserve to be. I’m sorry, I gave you everything I had without ever asking if you really wanted it. The pills just aren’t helping anymore. I take them when I’m supposed to and when I’m not supposed to and if I’m admitting there’s a problem, then you know it’s a big deal, Steve. Maybe it makes me an addict to use them to fill the gaps in my heart instead of just for short-term entertainment. I guess that makes one more thing about me that’s wrong. I can’t do this anymore, Steve. I can’t do it to you. So it looks like we’re at the end of the line, and  it was a great fuckin’ line, pal. I won’t be back at Lakewood next year. I won’t see you anymore. We’re done. I’m done. I guess this is how we learn what’s important and what’s not. Consider this a goodbye.

There was a line scribbled out near the bottom, right before Bucky’s signature and Steve ran a finger over the crossed out letters, wondering what they said. He didn’t realize he was crying until he saw his tears falling to the paper and smearing the ink. He was hurting and he was worried and he didn’t want to forget Bucky, he didn’t want to never see him again. Not without properly saying goodbye, without a better explanation.

His mother was in her room, getting ready for work and Steve knocked on the door. He barely waited for her to answer before he rushed into her room. Somehow he held it together long enough to tell her what had happened. “Mom I have to go, I have to,” he told her.

Sarah took the letter from her son and read it, her face falling as she read Bucky’s words through Steve’s tear stains. She folded the letter, laid it on her dresser, and reached for her purse. “Steve, I was saving this for your birthday, so you could make the trip to see Bucky then, but it’s clearly more important that you go see him now.” She handed him a folded wad of money from the depths of her purse. “I wish I could drive you, Steve, but I can’t miss work. I’ll take you to the bus station though.”

Steve nodded gratefully and took the money. “Can we go right now, Mom?” He rushed down the hall to his room and grabbed his wallet with the money he’d earned so far. He knew the price of a bus ticket to see Bucky by heart. He’d have barely enough for a round trip ticket with the extra his mother had just given him.

She nodded, picking up keys from the dresser. “Are you going to pack a bag or anything?”

“I’m ready to go right now, Mom. Please?”

* * * *

After the almost six hour bus ride and a seven-block walk, Steve stood there, in front of the Barnes’ door. His eyes adjusted as the clouds chased shadows across the well-manicured yard. Dimly Steve registered that the grass was an intense shade of green. Almost too vivid. He unclenched fists he didn’t know he was making, briefly examining the crescents his nails had bitten into the soft flesh of his palms. _Breathe_ , he reminded himself. He didn’t have his inhaler, had dropped it somewhere. He couldn’t stand here and have an asthma attack on Bucky’s doorstep. He could imagine Bucky calling him a punk and scolding him for losing the inhaler.

Steve rubbed his chest absentmindedly. Inhaled. Poised his finger over the doorbell. Exhaled shakily. Pressed his finger down.

The doorbell rang and Steve waited. Time passed slowly as he waited for someone to answer. While he waited, he looked down at the doorstep, his eyes drawn to a dark shape off to the left of the door. He bent low, staring at the shape. The longer he looked at it the more sure he became that they were Bucky’s boots. Before he could wonder why Bucky’s boots would be outside, the door opened, startling him.

An older man in a dark suit blinked owlishly at Steve. “Can I help you?”

Steve knew the man at the door wasn’t Bucky’s dad, he would never forget his face. “I… is this the Barnes residence?” he stuttered.

The man nodded, looking Steve up and down. “You must be here for the viewing. It’s at the church down the street. All of the family is there.” He pointed down the way Steve had come.

Steve looked in the direction that the man was pointing, towards the church he dimly remembered walking past on the way from the bus stop. The man hadn’t said whose viewing the family was at the church, but Steve felt a sick, sinking sensation in his stomach. He took off running towards the church, following the spire on the skyline, not caring that his lungs burned, not caring if he had an asthma attack.

He forced himself to slow down as he reached the church even though he wanted to burst through the doors. It took the last of his strength to pull open the heavy wooden door of the church. Inside the church was like another world. It was quiet, the air calm and chilled. The late afternoon sunshine streamed though the stained glass windows, casting colorful shadows.

Steve stood, stunned in the quiet stillness of the church vestibule as he read the sign in front of the next set of doors. “Barnes viewing” was all the sign said. But Steve knew, he knew which member of the Barnes family the viewing was for. He wanted to be wrong, he wanted Bucky to suddenly walk around the corner and clap him on the back and pull him close. But he knew that wouldn’t happen.

Steve struggled to breathe as he forced himself to walk through the doors to where the viewing was being held.  He knew he was shaking as he stepped into the viewing area. The room was filled with a sea of people dressed in black. Their conversations were murmured and low, flowing around him like water. No one was paying attention to the open casket in the front of the room, just like no one paid attention as he forced one foot in front of the other, walking towards the boy he loved.

There were dozens of large flower arrangements and the air was heavy with floral scents. Calla lilies and ferns competed with carnations and roses and each arrangement was more ornate than the last. Steve reached out to touch a white rose, the petals velvet soft against his fingertips. The sensation only made everything more real, more solid. The inside of the casket was covered in white satin, the fabric shiny and reflective even under the soft lights.

And there he was. James Barnes. Bucky. His Bucky, laid out, with his eyes closed and his beautiful mouth fixed in an imitation of a peaceful look. Maybe it was just his imagination but to Steve the expression looked like nothing so much as Bucky’s trademark smirk. Bucky’s arms were folded across his chest, his right arm crossed over the left. His nails were bare and Bucky’s hair was parted in a way he never would have done himself.

Bucky was dressed in a three-piece suit that hung off him, a start contrast from how gorgeous Bucky had looked in his suit at the prom. He was dressed and groomed but Bucky had never looked so naked to Steve. Everything about this was wrong. It wasn’t real, it couldn’t be real. Steve wanted to scream, wanted to shout at Bucky to wake up, but he could barely breathe enough to stay standing.

Finally he couldn’t take it anymore, couldn’t look at Bucky _like that_ any longer. Turning away as a sob caught in his throat, he bumped into an elderly woman.

“Did you know him? The Barnes boy?”

“What?” Steve asked, turning towards the woman. She looked as out of place as he felt, standing away from the rest of the people in the room. Like Steve, she actually looked like she was mourning Bucky.

“I asked if you knew Bucky,” she said, wiping a tear from her wrinkled cheek.

Thickly, through a fresh wave of tears, Steve answered. “I loved him.”


End file.
